Of Love and Marriage
by SqueakGirl
Summary: Stan Marsh had never thought about marriage.  No, he'd never even contemplated the thought until Wendy Testaburger had broken up with him.  Style.
1. A Wedding with Style

I'm not even sure where this came from. I just wanted to write something really, obnoxiously cute. And this is the result.

**Summary:** Stan Marsh had never thought about marriage. No, he'd never even contemplated it, until Wendy Testaburger broke up with him.

**Rating:** T for language

**Pairing:** Style - but more childish friendship really

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is only for fun.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter One: A Wedding with Style<strong>_

Stan Marsh had never contemplated marriage before. As an intelligent and passionate, if not a bit cynical ten year old boy, Stan had never truly stopped to muse over what his relationship status would be like in the future. And he certainly did not consider the idea of marrying young. Marriage was for grown-ups who had nothing better to do with their lives, apparently, than to pay bills, run to the grocery store, or subtly argue over what to do with the kids on a Friday night.

No, Stan Marsh had never thought about marriage. Not until Wendy Testaburger broke up with him for what seemed like the tenth time that year. It had been less gut-wrenching than their first break-up. And he hadn't tried to prevent the situation from happening either. All he knew was that Wendy had become more and more vocal about spending time together doing 'couply things' as she had so aptly described it. Now, for Stan that entailed sitting with her at lunch time, holding her hand as they walked down the hallway, brushing her hair if she asked, or simply being in the same room with her. So when Wendy cornered Stan one Friday afternoon just after Mr. Garrison had let them go for recess, Stan was surprised to learn that was not what his girlfriend had meant. She sighed as she listed off the 'fun things' she felt the two of them as a couple could share in. She noted hanging out at the mall, donating their time to the homeless shelter, and protesting the latest fashion that apparently would brainwash young girls into thinking the only way to succeed in life was by becoming walking balls of yarn or some shit like that.

Stan frowned at all this, confused that his girlfriend would expect more out of him. So when Wendy noticed Stan's perturbed and vacant look that Friday afternoon, she simply tossed her long black hair and smiled.

"Stan, do you want to break up?" she asked. Not the least bit taken aback by the question, the young boy scratched at his ear.

"Do you?"

Wendy shrugged. "You're not really into this are you?"

Stan tried to save face. "No, no! I'd love to…feed the homeless or protest that cat bra thing."

"It's Whisker Chic. They aren't bras their horrible shirts made of nothing but strings! Or 'whiskers' as they call them. And they expect girls like me to wear them! Can you image, Stan?"

Stan couldn't really. He tried hard to think of Wendy wearing something consisting of nothing but strings, but the image just appeared ridiculous before his mind's eye. He saw her wrapped in pink shoelaces with a bow stuck right in the middle of her chest. Personally he didn't see it as such a bad thing really, it looked kind of cute. If not a bit silly.

"Stan, are you listening?"

The boy shook his head releasing the odd picture from his mind. Wendy tilted her head in polite confusion.

"So we should break up, right?" the girl asked quietly. Stan shrugged feeling sad now.

"Maybe." He did like Wendy. She was smart and could throw one hell of a punch, but Stan just couldn't motivate himself to run around with her and all her strange causes. He admired her for her spunk and determination on getting a job done, no doubt; but for the most part he just wanted to remain snug on his couch as she went about doing it. The only time he'd gotten enthusiastic about one of her missions was when she wanted to help the local police enforce a law about protecting stray dogs from quick euthanasia when caught. Something Butters had told her about. He claimed he had had firsthand experience on the matter.

"Are you going to be okay? You aren't going to Goth out on me, are you, Stan?" Wendy asked placing a hand on the boy's arm. He nodded.

"It's cool, Wendy. You work better on your own anyway."

With that said he slipped out of her grip and headed down the hall towards the exit and the playground.

It was after this rather anti-climatic break-up that Stan found himself sitting next to his Super Best Friend Kyle Broflovski on the swing set. The redhead wasn't swinging like Stan, but instead sat motionless skimming through a large math textbook.

"Dude, why are you doing homework during recess?" Stan asked out of breath as he pumped his legs trying to get his swing to rise higher. Kyle glanced up. He adjusted his green hat to fit a bit more snuggly on his head.

"I'm doing some extra credit. My mom said I should try to do more," Kyle said, scowling at his feet. "She says it's never too early to start."

"Start what?" Stan queried.

"Preparing for college."

"Dude, we're ten."

"I know. It's stupid!" Kyle said throwing his hands into the air. "I just don't get her sometimes. Dad's totally cool with me just playing Game Sphere after school, but Mom's like 'no, Kyle, you need to study!'"

"Yeah, your mom's weird," Stan agreed. He paused, thinking. "Girls are weird really."

"Totally, dude," Kyle agreed. "My mom's probably the weirdest of them all!"

Stan stuck his feet out, catching the ground and kicking up snow and dirt.

"Wendy broke up with me again."

Kyle frowned. "Sorry, dude. Anything you want me to do?"

Stan shook his head. "It doesn't feel bad this time around. I was getting kind of bored anyway."

Kyle laughed. "Dad tells me that's what marriage is like. Boring. Maybe you were acting like a married couple and didn't know it."

Stan didn't like that. He knew marriage could be a bit bland, but he had secretly hoped there was some bit of fun in it. Why did so many people do it if it wasn't fun?

"Nah, dude, I think marriage could be fun. Just not with Wendy," Stan explained.

"Then with who?" Kyle looked back at his textbook.

Stan rubbed his chin. He repositioned himself in the swing. Now he hung from it, his arms and legs dangling out beneath him. He pushed forward and swung a little.

How could marriage be fun? He had seen his parents do all the boring stuff true, but he'd also seen them laughing and carrying on too. They knew what the other was thinking. They could finish one another's sentences sometimes. In fact his mother was so good at reading Stan's father that she tended to display almost psychic-like powers as she predicted his next antics. Once she had seen Stan's father purchase a pair bellbottom pants at a local garage sale. When he had made the purchase, she simply told her husband 'I'm not dancing, Randy.' Now Stan had been confused by the strange exchange. Apparently Randy had been just as much in the dark, but it wasn't two days later that he came bursting through the front door with a broken disco ball, a stack of vinyl records, and a plan to start a neighborhood disco club.

Stan smiled to himself. His mom was one of the few girls who didn't seem odd. The black-haired boy tried to imagine himself predicting Wendy's next move. Although he understood her determination to make a statement in their small town, he never knew how her latest schemes would develop or when they'd sprout up. No, Stan thought, he could never read Wendy the way his mother read his father.

The boy turned to his best friend. Kyle scratched at his nose his attention still on his textbook. As Stan watched the other boy, Kyle tugged at his hat trying to pull it farther down over his head. Small red curls poked out from beneath the green ushanka. Smiling Stan knew his friend had had a recent run in with Eric Cartman. Kyle only fidgeted with his hat or rubbed at his nose after long shouting matches with the fatass.

"What he say this time, dude?" Stan asked, leaning the swing over to the left and nudging Kyle with his fist before moving back to the right.

Shifting in his seat and glaring at the mulch underneath him, Kyle explained, "He saw me reading over by the tree. When I told him I was studying math cause my mom said so, he said 'oh, does your bitch of a mom want you to be an accountant, Kahl. Cause that's all Jews are good for, countin' money.'"

"Cartman's a fat fuck. Don't listen to him, dude," Stan said swinging back over to Kyle and giving the boy another friendly bump with his fist.

Kyle smiled at his friend. "How'd you know he'd been messing with me?"

Stan pointed to the boy's hat. "You always tug at your hat when he's said shit. You always worry about showing off your jewfro, dude."

Stan hesitated before adding, "And you rub at your nose too. It's not as big as you think. And Cartman's an asshole for saying that shit to you."

Kyle blinked a few times. Stan blushed, he wasn't sure if he'd annoyed his friend or not.

"Uh, never mind, Kyle." The black-haired boy stood up, still holding onto the swing's chains. He jumped up into the seat and started swinging as he remained standing. Kyle continued to stare at him.

"What?"

"How do you do that?" Kyle asked watching Stan swing.

"Uh, dude, it's easy, I just move my body back and forth like this."

Kyle snorted. "No, dumbass, how do you always know how I feel. I mean it's weird you can just know shit about me, you know?"

Stan stepped down and sat in the swing properly. "Are you mad?"

Kyle blushed. "No, it's actually kind of cool."

"Well, you are my Super Best Friend, dude. I wouldn't be that if I couldn't tell when you were happy or sad. It's my job to make sure you're just as awesome as I am."

Kyle laughed. "Yeah. Though I don't know if I do as good a job as you in the best friend department."

Stan moved behind Kyle and gave the boy a push. The redhead swung forward slowly. Tossing his textbook to the ground, Kyle grabbed the chains on either side of him. Stan continued to push him in a rhythmic fashion. Not too fast, not too slow.

"Aww, come on, dude, you're the bestest best friend," Stan said catching Kyle in a hug before pushing him off again. "That's why we're Super Best Friends!"

The two remained quiet after that. Stan pushed his friend with a slight grin on his face. He had been feeling rather down because of Wendy, but making Kyle smile had cheered him up. He found himself comparing the two. He could never figure out Wendy, but Kyle was easy to read. They'd known each other for so long that Stan knew Kyle the way he knew himself.

The same way his mother understood his father.

Stan stopped Kyle's swing. The redhead craned his neck around to see why his best friend had ceased pushing.

"Dude, what's wrong?"

"Do you want to get married?" Stan asked without flinching.

Kyle blinked up at him.

"Dude, are you high right now? Cause I thought we promised to try that shit together when we we're older."

Stan shook his head. He ran around to the front and grabbed a hold of the swing's chain. He stared at his friend their faces close.

"Dude, I want to marry you!"

Kyle leaned away, his face now red.

"Uh, Stan, we can't get married.

"Why not?" Stan asked dropping his arms and tilting his head. Kyle smiled sheepishly.

"Um, cause we're dudes, dude," Kyle explained.

"So, that shouldn't stop us," Stan said still energetic. "I mean look at Mr. Slave and Al."

"Um, Stan, there's a big difference between them and us. They're gay, we're not."

Kyle pushed the swing back, half standing, half sitting. Stan still stood in front of him. The black-haired boy thought over what his friend had said, taking off his hat to scratch at his head.

"Dude, everyone's a little bit gay," Stan confessed. Kyle narrowed his eyes.

"Well, I'm not!"

"Ah, come on, Kyle, think about it. If we were married it'd be so much fun. We wouldn't have to worry about stupid girls and their problems. We'd stay up all night and eat pizza and KFC! Then play Guitar Hero until the sun came up making noise and stuff. And we wouldn't have to worry about girls telling us to hold their shit or tell them they're pretty."

Kyle still didn't look convinced. The redhead scanned the playground, trying not to look at his best friend.

Stan continued, "It's not like we wouldn't get along either. We're such good friends that we'd always know what the other wanted. I mean, I knew when Cartman had been picking on you. I know all your secrets and you know mine. You know about that one time Shelley dressed me up or the time I stole that toy car without meaning to or the time I tried eating my dad's shave gel just to see if it would make me foam at the mouth like a dog."

Kyle shrugged smiling. "Man, you've done some stupid shit."

Stan laughed. "You do too. And I know every one of them. Like the time you took the menorah and tried to sword fight me with it. You burned that spot on the carpet in your room you now have your toy chest over."

"Ah, dude, I almost forgot about that," Kyle giggled. "That was your idea too. The fight."

"Actually, it was yours. And I'm not the one who lit all the candles."

"Hey, whatever, you tried to fight back with an antenna from your dad's TV. He grounded you for a week cause he couldn't get a reception for the game."

Stan waved his hands dismissively. "Well, whatever, the point I'm trying to make is we'd be good married. We'd be able to do that kind of stuff all the time and not have to worry about girls telling us it isn't fun."

Kyle looked thoughtful. "I guess with you it wouldn't be so bad."

"Right!"

Standing up the redhead moved closer to Stan. "Alright, dude, let's get married!"

"Sweet!"

Grabbing his friend's hand, Stan raced off into the playground. Passing the monkey bars and dashing over the sandbox, the boys came to a stop before a small cluster of trees. Sitting on the lowest branch was a boy wearing nothing but orange.

"Hey, Kenny," Stan called up. The orange child glanced down at his friends and gave a wave accompanied by a muffled 'hey, dudes.'

"Can you come down here?" Stan asked. Kyle stood next to his best friend looking perplexed.

"Why do you want Kenny?"

"He knows everything, Kyle. He'll know how to marry us."

Kyle's eyes widened. "Good call, dude."

When Kenny had reached the ground, he turned to his friends and asked, "What's up?"

Stan stepped forward still holding Kyle's hand. "Dude, do you know how to marry someone?"

"You need a priest," Kenny began and glancing at Kyle, added, "Or a rabbi."

Kyle looked skeptical. "I don't know, dude. I don't think my rabbi would marry us. We're too young."

"Yeah and Father Maxi's doesn't really like gay couples," Kenny commented. Stan frowned at them both.

Kyle narrowed his brows. "We're not gay, Kenny. We just want to get married to each other."

"Yeah, Super Best Friends can get married, and it's totally not gay," Stan continued.

Kenny rolled his eyes. "You still need someone to perform the ceremony. And witnesses and a cake. A big one with lots of white flowers. Plus you need to bring along a shotgun."

Stan blanched at Kenny's mention of a weapon.

"Why a gun?"

Kenny shrugged. "That's what my dad told me he had at his wedding. Said grandpa held it behind him for the whole time."

Recovering, Stan asked, "I don't want a shotgun at my wedding. There's got to be another way to marry other than the usual method. Right?"

Kenny crossed his arms. "I could do it."

Kyle scoffed. "You cannot. You're not a priest."

"I can too," Kenny challenged. "I saw this add on the internet. You can get ordained online. And it's totally legit. Cartman did it once, remember? When he tried to make his own church."

"Cartman's not allowed to my wedding," Kyle warned Stan glaring the other boy down. Stan nodded.

"Well, I could try doing it," Kenny offered. Stan and Kyle beamed at him.

"Cool, dude!" they said together.

Kenny began climbing his tree again. "How about tomorrow night? I'm sure I'll be able to get ordained by then."

"Sounds good," said Stan.

And with their wedding planned, Stan and Kyle retreated back to the playground where Stan continued pushing Kyle on the swing.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately for Kyle, Cartman did show up to his and Stan's wedding. At around six in the evening Stan and Kyle ventured over to the McCormick's dilapidated house. Skirting the front lawn desperately in need of a good cut, the boys found Kenny sitting on an ugly stump in his backyard. A truck sat behind him, perched up on cinderblocks. In the driver's seat pretending to drive was Eric Cartman. Butters sat in the passenger's side.<p>

"What the hell is he doing here?" Kyle cried rushing towards Kenny. The redhead pointed at the fat boy behind the steering wheel.

"Uh, he wanted to see the wedding too," Kenny explained, not looking Kyle in the eye. He bent his head and shuffled some papers he had sitting in front of him. "And we needed more witnesses."

"Bullshit," Kyle roared, stomping over to the truck. He glared up at Cartman who gave the redhead a smarmy salute.

"Hey, Kahl, here you and Stan are fags now."

"Shut up, fatass," called Stan who still stood next to Kenny. "We aren't gay. We just want to get married."

Butters stumbled out of the truck. "Oh boy, fellas, I've never been to a wedding before. I just got so excited when Kenny said you twos were going to be married!"

"Why'd you tell Butters?" Stan asked.

Kenny shrugged. "I told you we need witnesses."

"Oh."

"Yep, I wanted to be a witness, Stan," Butters said cheerfully running up beside the black-haired boy. "Wait 'til I tell my parents I got to help with a wedding. Maybe they won't ground me tonight."

"So why isn't the Jew in a white dress?" Cartman said hopping out of the truck too. He pushed past Kyle and stood next to the stump.

"That's bad you know," Eric added, sneering at Kyle.

"Dude, why the hell would I wear a fucking dress?"

"Well, Stan's the one wearing the pants in this relationship, right?" Cartman said flopping down beside Butters who sat crossed legged in the grass.

Kyle glared down at the fat boy.

"We both wear pants, dude," Stan said thoughtfully.

"Well, my mom told me that in gay relationships one's always got to be the girl."

Kenny looked up from his writing. "That's not true, fatass."

"Yeah it is, Kenny. My mom said so."

"Well, your mother's a dirty whore."

"AY! Shut up about my mom, asshole!"

Stan raised his hands. "Guys! Guys! Just shut up okay. Kyle and I are going to get married cause we think it'll be fun. We aren't gay and no one's wearing a dress."

"Marriage isn't fun," Kenny said thoughtfully. "My parents never have fun. They're always yelling at each other."

Kyle and Stan looked at one another. "Well, we're Super Best Friends, dude. We don't really argue that much. Plus since we're both dudes we can understand each other better. Cause girls are just weird sometimes."

"Skanks, the whole lot of them," added Cartman.

"Y-yeah, girls are just t-trouble," Butters quipped.

Kenny rolled his eyes and proceeded to climb up onto the stump. He surveyed his friends, shuffling the papers he held dramatically. He pointed to Stan and Kyle.

"You two move over by the house. Stand there until Butters starts playing the music," Kenny explained. Butters pulled out a small, brightly colored tape player from his school bag. Stan took Kyle's hand and they walked over to the backdoor. Both sat down on the porch step.

"Then when you hear the music," Kenny said raising his voice so that the 'engaged' could hear him; he glanced at his notes, "you walk down the aisle. Cartman, make the aisle."

"AY, I don't have to do anything, you poor piece of shit."

"Do it or no cake."

Fuming and mumbling under his breath, Cartman heaved himself up and waddled over to the house. He picked up the hose, several broken pots, and a bent patio chair leg. Moving across the yard he fashioned a makeshift aisle; the hose doubled up on itself, made the aisle. With two potted plants next the stump, Eric bent the patio chair leg even more and propped it up beside the pots. Although it was many sizes too small, Cartman had made an easily recognizable arch. With his work finished, the fat boy flopped down in the grass next to the aisle. He raised his hand waving it around the space he occupied.

"This 'ere's the Groom's side. Kyle's side's over there. The _Bride's_ side."

"CARTMAN!" Kyle shouted from his spot next to Kenny's house. Stan shook his head, trying not to smile.

"Okay, Butters," Kenny turned to the smaller blond. "Go get the flowers."

With a quick nod, the small boy leapt up and scrambled over towards the truck. Climbing up the side and standing on the cinderblock with tiptoes, Butters pulled out a large wad of leaves, yellow dandelions, and tiny purple flowers; all vegetation that could be easily found on the side of the road (when the snow wasn't covering it). With his makeshift bouquet, Butter hurried back down and ran over to Stan and Kyle. The other boys gave Butters a bemused look.

"See, fellas, I asked Ken if I could be the flower boy. I get to toss the flowers all the way down the aisle before you walk it," Butters explained to Stan and Kyle.

Not wanting to laugh at their enthusiastic friend, Stan covered his mouth with his hand pretending to cough. Kyle's mouth was set in a tight line as he nodded to Butters. When the boy's back was turned to them, Kyle started hiccupping with laughter his eyes determinedly skyward. Stan stood in front of him so that Butters wouldn't see.

"That's real nice of you, Butters," Stan said, his mouth twitching. "Did you pick those all by yourself?"

Butters nodded and so did Stan not trusting himself not to laugh if he tried to continue the conversation.

Cartman looked back over his shoulder. "God, you're such a fag, Butters. But I guess it's fitting for Stan and Kyle's wedding."

Kenny who had ducked down behind the stump, returned and stood upon it. He had removed his hood, which was a shock unto itself, and had donned an overlarge black suit jacket. Its color was faded and a brown patch graced one of the sleeve's elbows. He pulled out of the chest pocket a little white ribbon and wrapped it around his neck imitating the white collar Father Maxi often wore.

"Okay, Butters, ready?" Kenny called.

"Y-yeah!"

Startled into walking, the small boy headed down the aisle towards the stump. Every few steps he'd stop and place a flower on the ground. He'd reached half-way when Cartman barked at him.

"What the hell, Butters! Flower girls don't _place_ the flowers on the ground, they _throw_ them!"

"O-oh, well, I didn't want any of them to get bent."

"For fuck's sake, Butters, Stan and Kyle are just going to walk over them anyway."

Butters looked distraught. He finished walking up the aisle, half throwing half dropping the flowers as he went in a very jerky manner. Cartman huffed.

"God, this better not take all night," Eric moaned.

"Shut up, fatass," Stan snapped. "This is important."

"Whateva, you guys."

When Butters finally reached the end of the line, he hopped over to the 'Bride's' side of the aisle and picked up his tape player. Pressing the play button, he set it down on the grass and stood facing the house. Cartman grunted and pulled himself into a standing position too.

The music that started playing was a legit wedding march. Stan smiled glad something was right about the whole thrown together ceremony. He took Kyle's hand again. The redhead beamed up at him. And the two proceeded down the aisle. They tried their best not to step on any of Butters's flowers and when they reached Kenny on his stump, Stan turned to the smaller blond and shook his hand thanking him for his contribution.

Kenny cleared his throat and swept his eyes over his friends. He smiled and then looked down at his notes. He read them, barely glancing up. He spoke hesitantly a sure sign that he hadn't rehearsed. Stan and Kyle didn't mind.

"Dearly, beloved we are…gathered here today to join this dude and this dude," He pointed first to Stan then Kyle, "in holy matrimony."

Flipping over a page, he continued, "Stan, do you take Kyle to be your awfully wedded husband, for like ever and ever. Even when he's sick with his stupid diabetes or poor because he's got the whole town's debts to deal with or he makes you do the dishes?"

Stan didn't falter. "I do!"

Kenny turned to Kyle. He still held Stan's hand with a look of utmost determination on his face.

"Do you, Kyle, take Stan to be your awfully wedded husband, forever and ever? Even if he snores during your sleepovers or wants you to save the whales or he beats you at Guitar Hero one too many times?"

Kyle glanced at Stan who smiled. Kyle smiled too.

"Of course. I do."

Producing an empty glass Coca Cola bottle from his voluminous pocket, Kenny dropped it to the ground. He turned to Kyle.

"You're supposed to kick it and break it or something, I think."

"Sweet!" Reeling his foot back, the redhead jumped slightly forward and kicked the bottle as hard as he could. It flew a good couple of feet before smashing against the side of the truck and shattering into several pieces.

Stan whistled appreciatively. Even Cartman nodded his approval.

Kenny laughed, throwing his arms wide and tossing his papers to the ground.

"Now then by the powers of Gray Skull invested in me and by WedToday dot com, I now announce you husband and husband!"

Butters clapped like an idiot, hopping up and down, and Cartman shook his head, rolling his eyes. Stan and Kyle continued to smile at one another.

"Where's the cake?" Eric asked, moving towards the house.

"Oh, but, Eric, Stan and Kyle got to walk back down the aisle, before cake," Butters explained. "Then they get to cut it and share it with everyone."

"Fine. Hurry up, fags!"

Kenny had brought his arms down and hopped off the stump. "You know, dudes, this is the part where people kiss."

"Gross, Kenny," spat Cartman. Butters blushed, wringing his hands together.

"Ken's right, fellas. It's supposed to be all romantic."

Stan shrugged his shoulders, his eyes only on Kyle. "Well, dude, I mean if we want to do the thing properly."

Kyle glanced at Cartman, who was now grinning. From nowhere the fat boy had produced a camera.

Kyle turned back to Stan. "Dude, that's gay. And we're not gay.

"Just married," Kenny offered pulling off the suit and reaching for his faithful orange parka.

"Yeah, just married. So that doesn't make us gay."

Stan leaned closer, whispering so only Kyle could hear. "You don't want to kiss in front of fatass, do you?"

"Yeah."

"Later then?"

Kyle thought about it. "Okay, sounds good."

The five ate cake after that. Butters had brought it. They all sat in the back of the pick-up, brushing away the excess snow and debris. Kenny told Stan and Kyle to sit at the front and instructed them to cut the cake first. They did so, with Cartman breathing down their necks, his fingers hovering dangerously close to the treat. It was a small cake, barely the size of a shoebox. Butters claimed to have made it, and had decorated the outside in orange and blue letters: Happy Wedding Stan and Kyle!

Passing a piece over to Cartman, Stan said, "So don't we have to sign something, Kenny? To prove we're married."

The blond looked thoughtful, accepting his own piece of cake. "Hmm, maybe." He turned around and slid out of the truck's bed. Scrambling around the tree trunk, Kenny collected several of his discarded notes. Returning to the bed he slapped a blank sheet of paper down and began scribbling on it. When he'd finished he showed the paper to Stan.

"Just sign at the bottom and then the witnesses can sign it. That way you can have a marriage certificate!"

Stan took the paper and pen and signed his name in big loopy letters. He handed the page to Kyle, who read it through twice, before deciding there were no tricks, and signed it too. Next Butters put his signature and then Cartman.

Kenny signed it last and then folded the paper in two and handed it back to Kyle. "Now, you're all set, dudes!"

"Sweet!" Stan and Kyle said together.

The rest of the wedding went by smoothly. Butters dropped down from the truck and went about collecting the flowers he'd dropped. He bunched them together with a twist tie. He gave it to Stan and Kyle asking if they were going to throw it. Kyle took it without a word and told Butters to go long. He chucked the bouquet as hard as he could, and Butters tripped over the garden hose, falling flat on his face as the flowers landed on his back. Everyone howled with laughter, but Butters didn't mind, claiming he was going to be the next one to get married. Cartman called him a pussy.

After that the friends parted ways. Kenny's mother called him in for supper, in which Cartman poked fun of him for eating only hot pockets for the meal. Butters left in a hurry afraid he might be grounded if he didn't 'skedaddle home.' Hand in hand Stan and Kyle headed towards Stan's house. Cartman followed behind them, his camera at the ready.

"You know, guys, you should totally make out or something."

"Fuck off, fatass," Kyle shot.

"Yeah," said Stan. "Besides, dude, why the hell are you so keen on getting a picture of us? Doesn't that make you kind of gay?"

Cartman shook his head, huffing. "Nuh uh, Stan. I just know that at weddings people take lots of pictures. I just wanted to help out."

"No you don't, Cartman. You just want blackmail fodder," Kyle challenged.

Cartman placed a pudgy hand over his heart. "I'm surprised at you, Kahl. I would never blackmail you guys. Seriously. You're my friends."

Stan rolled his eyes, and Kyle flipped the fat boy off.

"Just leave us alone, fatass."

"Fine! If you guys don't want my awesome photography skills, then screw you, I'mma goin' home."

And with that he crossed the street and headed in the opposite direction of Stan's house. Kyle watched him go, glaring the entire time.

"I swear if he tries to pull any shit…" Kyle fumed one fist curled and the other reaching for his hat, tugging it further down on his head. Stan took the boy's hand, pulling it away from the hat, and gave it a squeeze.

"Don't let him mess with you."

Kyle half smiled, glancing down at his friend's hand in his. They started back down the sidewalk.

"So, we're married now, Stan. You happy?" Kyle asked peering at his friend's face. Stan nodded, beaming. He indeed was very happy. It felt like a balloon had blossomed inside his stomach, threatening to lift him off the ground. This had been a good idea.

Still smiling Stan punched Kyle in the shoulder.

"Race you home!"

"You're on!"

Without pretense, the newlyweds took off down the block.

* * *

><p>That night as Mrs. Marsh helped Stan and Kyle ready for bed, she moved to pull down the spare sleeping bag which she kept in Stan's closet for her son's friend. She began to unfurl it when Stan stopped her.<p>

"Wait, mom," Stan said hopping off his bed. "Kyle doesn't need that anymore."

Sharon blinked deciding to humor her son. "Really why not, dear?"

Taking his best friend's hand, Stan declared proudly. "We're married now, mom. So Kyle can sleep in my bed, the same way you and dad sleep together."

Mrs. Marsh laughed. She smiled down at the determined look on Stan's face. Kyle stood slightly behind the other boy, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Well, that's wonderful, Stan. Congratulations," Sharon said indulging her son. She gave each boy a hug in turn. "But why wasn't I invited to the wedding, dear?"

Stan looked taken aback. He frowned. "Uh, I didn't know you would want to come."

"Of course, Stan, why wouldn't I want to see my son's own wedding?" Sharon laughed. Stan's frown intensified. Kyle looked nervous.

"Well, it was kind of short, Mrs. Marsh," Kyle explained. "Plus Cartman was there."

The adult chuckled at the annoyed look the redhead wore. She straightened up and returned the sleeping bag to Stan's closet. Turning around she folded her arms across her chest.

"Well, Stan, if you two want to share a bed go right ahead. Just get to sleep soon. I don't want to hear you two up at three in the morning still talking. Okay?" his mother warned. Stan nodded obediently. Exiting the room Mrs. Marsh closed the door behind her.

Stan and Kyle crawled into bed settling down upon the same pillow. Stan plucked off his puff-ball hat and tossed it upon the bed post. Kyle touched his own hat, but kept it on his head. Both boys turned to face one another.

"I'm glad your mom's cool with our marriage," Kyle said smiling. Stan nodded.

A pause. Stan reached out and took Kyle's hand.

"You still want a kiss?" he asked. "I mean, I think we should kiss at least once. You know, now that we're married. It might be a good luck thing, you know."

Kyle scrunched up his nose. "I don't know, dude. Isn't that gay?"

"Not if we're married."

"Okay."

They leaned closer and pressed their lips together, each boy with his face pinched and eyes closed tight shut. It lasted for no more than a few seconds and then the two pulled apart. Stan smiled and Kyle broke out laughing.

"That wasn't so bad," Kyle giggled. Stan chuckled too.

"Yeah, you taste like toothpaste and…." Stan tapped a finger to his lips. "And your lips are chapped, dude."

The redhead raised an eyebrow. "Well, yours were all wet and gross."

"They were not," Stan argued playfully. Kyle laughed.

"Eh, your right."

Stan nodded and then commented, "Normally, Wendy would taste like chapstick, but I like the way you taste."

Kyle blushed turning his face away from Stan. The black-haired boy glanced down at their entwined fingers. Suddenly, he bolted out of the bed. Kyle sat up confused.

"Dude, what the hell?"

Stan rushed over to his discarded jeans. He dug in his pockets and pulled out a little plastic bubble that held prizes from coin machines.

He returned to the bed and crawled up to Kyle. Sitting on his knees, Stan popped open the little bubble and produced a plastic ring. It had an ugly gray-green stone set in the middle.

"I got this the other day!" he said proudly holding it up in front of Kyle's nose. "It's a mood ring, but I'm sure it can still work for a wedding ring. Give me your hand."

Stan took a hold of Kyle's right wrist and spread out the other boy's fingers. He slid the mood ring onto the other boy's index finger. He smiled down at the tiny gift.

"There, now it's really, really official now," Stan grinned stupidly. Kyle hugged him.

"Thanks, dude."

Stan lay back down and pulled the covers over them. He turned to face the other boy and once again Kyle's hand, now complete with mood ring, slid into his own.

"Goodnight, Kyle."

"Night, Stan."

* * *

><p>Hope you enjoyed. I tried hard to be humorous so I hoped that paid off.<p>

_**Please feel free to review and comment. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.**_


	2. Married Life

So I wrote a part two. God, this was fun to write. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far and thank you to those who are reading now! :D

Please forgive the lame Chapter titles.

**Summary:** Stan Marsh had never thought about marriage. No, he'd never even contemplated it, until Wendy Testaburger broke up with him.

**Rating:** T for language

**Pairing:** Style - but more childish friendship really

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is only for fun.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Two: Married Life is Quite Stylish<br>**_

Randy Marsh stood on his porch looking up at his son's clubhouse that despite the weather and years of neglect, still stood sturdy. Although now it had several boards missing from its south side and the roof leaked quite terribly. At the moment Kyle sat inside the clubhouse. From his position on the porch, Randy could see the young redhead hang another crayon drawing on the wall. Then, from a corner the adult couldn't see, Kyle produced a short broom and began sweeping the dust out of the clubhouse. Bits of twig, rocks, and a cobweb fluttered down to the ground as the boy swept. Randy continued to watch Kyle until the boy brought out a wash rag and tacked it to the window in a makeshift curtain. Randy could no longer see inside the clubhouse.

Turning his attention to his son now, Randy watched Stan. The boy had walked all the way to the opposite side of the yard. He sat in the melting snow and grass, his legs crossed beneath him. Set out before Stan was several rocks of varying size, shape, and color. The boy had borrowed one of his father's ties and wore it loosely about his neck. In his hand he held a small angular rock and in his other a magnifying glass. He studied the rock carefully, setting the magnifying glass down every now and then to write in a tiny notepad.

Randy took a sip of his coffee. He turned back to the house and called for his wife.

When she arrived, he asked, "Sharon, what are the boys doing?"

Glancing from the clubhouse where Kyle had now pinned a large poster of Terrence and Phillip over the threshold to her own son who picked up his rocks and returned them to the garden bed, the mother smiled.

"Oh, they're just playing house, Randy." She retreated to the kitchen, sitting down at the table to finish writing out bills. Her husband followed.

"House? They're not playing house."

Sharon signed a check. "Yes, they are, Randy. Stan told me last night that Kyle and he are married now."

Randy spit out his coffee. "What?"

"Oh calm down, Randy, they're just playing. I think it's cute." Sharon began searching through a stack of papers. Her husband stared at her for a minute before speaking.

"Why are Stan and Kyle pretending to be married?"

Sharon shrugged. "Not sure. They just wanted to sleep in the same bed last night. It was sweet."

"Did you tell them they couldn't?" Randy pressed. Sharon narrowed her eyes.

"Why would I tell them they couldn't?"

Randy rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. It's not normal for boys to play house."

Sharon tapped her pen against the table. She crossed her legs. "Are you serious?"

"Hear me out, Sharon, boys don't play house. Now, they might play house with a girl. You know play pretend that they're a father or a brother. But boys don't play house with _each other_."

The woman rested her chin in her hand. "Randy, don't freak out about this."

"I'm not freaking out, Sharon," Randy retorted, his voice high. He set down his coffee mug. "It's just I don't think Stan and Kyle should play house. You just don't understand because you're a girl. Guys play differently, okay. You see them playing house and see nothing wrong cause you've played house before. But guys just don't do that. Understand?"

Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh, I understand, Randy."

"Good. Now, I'm going to go ask Stan and Kyle if they want to play some football." Randy turned on his heel and marched to the backyard. Sharon followed him. As he went to open the sliding glass door, Sharon caught it and slammed it shut.

"You will leave those boys alone, Randy. They aren't hurting anyone," she warned. "Let them play what they want."

"B-but, Sharon." Randy's lip trembled; he looked on the verge of pouting. His wife crossed her arms.

"No."

"But –"

"NO, RANDY!"

"Mom?"

Both adults whipped around. Stan stood, tie and all, behind his parents. Sharon's expression softened. She discretely jabbed her husband in the side and then moved to Stan.

"Yes, Stanley? What is it?"

"Can I have some pots and a spoon?" the boy asked his eyes trailing towards the kitchen cabinets.

"Of course, dear. Pick what you want. Just wash them when you're done with them. Okay?" His mother pulled open a few drawers and swept her hand toward them.

Randy opened and closed his mouth several times, but didn't comment. Sharon glared at him over her son's head. When Stan exited the kitchen, Randy made a few frantic motions to the back door. He pointed to Sharon and then back to the door, holding out his hands as if in a begging motion.

"Really?"

Sharon raised an eyebrow. "Really what, Randy?"

"You really let him just take those? He's going to start play pretending that he's cooking!"

"You are not allowed to talk to me about cooking!" Sharon pointed a warning finger at her husband. "And you will let your son play house with his friend. It might just be a phase, Randy, so _don't _make a big deal about it."

Sharon marched back over to the kitchen table, threw out her chair and planted herself down. Randy gaped at his wife and then sheepishly sat down opposite her at the table. He let out a rather over dramatic sigh. His wife glared at him.

"Are son's a homosexual, isn't he, Sharon?"

His wife looked at him as if to say 'why me.' She gathered the bills and papers before her and left the room. Randy hollered after her.

"Well, at least we know he's the man in the relationship! Sharon? Sharon?"

* * *

><p>Outside, up in Stan's clubhouse, the two boys covered a makeshift table made from a cardboard box with an oil-stained cloth. Upon it Stan set the pots and spoons he'd borrowed from his mother.<p>

"So my parents are yelling at each other," Stan said nonchalantly. Kyle gave a slight nod to show he was listening.

"About what?"

"Us."

Kyle looked up. He wore his father's old suit jacket and a pair of fake eye-glasses with no lenses. He tilted his head confused.

"Why are they arguing about us, dude?"

"Not sure. Dad thinks we're playin' house," Stan explained. Kyle blinked. "And he doesn't like it."

"We should tell him that we're not playin'. That we're really married. Then maybe he won't be upset," Kyle suggested.

Stan clapped his hands together. "That's a good idea, dude. Come on."

The boys climbed down from the clubhouse. They ran across the yard to the backdoor. Kyle had to hold up his suit jacket to keep it from brushing against the ground. Stan pulled back the glass door, and they stepped inside.

Randy sat in the living room, a beer in one hand and the remote in the other. Stan sat down next to his father. Kyle clambered up after him. Randy eyed them both. He gave his son a crooked smile.

"Hey, Stan, what are you two up to?"

"Well, Kyle was fixing up the clubhouse, and I was pretending to be a geologist."

Randy looked touched. "Really, Stan?"

The black-haired boy nodded. "Yep. Do you get bored of staring at rocks all day, Dad?"

"Well, Stan, I just don't examine rocks, I also study tectonic plates and volcanoes and other cool stuff like that."

"Your job's cooler than my dad's job, Mr. Marsh," Kyle piped up.

Randy beamed. "Thank you, Kyle." He shifted in his seat. "So, why are you boys fixing up the clubhouse and playin' geologist?"

"Well, we need a place to stay now that we're married, Dad," Stan explained without missing a beat. "And I got to get a job so I can provide."

His father flinched visibly. "Married? Are you and Wendy pretending to be wed?"

Stan shook his head. "Nah, Dad, I broke up with her yesterday. Nope, I'm married to Kyle now. See I got him a ring and everything."

Kyle stuck out his hand showing off his mood ring which was a nice shade of purple at the moment. Stan grinned. Randy nodded his face pale.

"That's nice, Stan. But you do know boys can't marry each other."

Stan frowned. "Uh, yeah they can, Dad. Remember we were at Big Gay Al's wedding, remember?"

Randy sat up. "What I meant is boys your age can't really be married. You're too young."

Suddenly, Sharon appeared in the doorway. She forced a smile.

"Randy! Go to the store for me!"

"But Sharon didn't you just go –"

"I forgot to get hangers. Yes, we need more hangers. Plastic ones. In white, green and blue. Okay."

Getting to his feet, Randy dug in his pocket for his keys. He gave his wife an odd look. Stan and Kyle remained silent turning from one adult to the other. After a minute of silence, Randy left the house. Sharon let out a sigh.

"Mom, what's wrong with Dad?" Stan asked.

"He's just being stubborn."

Stan nodded understanding a little. He picked up the remote his father had dropped and changed the station. Terrance and Phillip appeared on the screen. Kyle scooted closer to him, and Stan wrapped an arm about his waist. Sharon disappeared from the doorway and then returned a large grin spreading across her face.

"Oh, Stanley, I have something for you and Kyle."

Both boys looked up at the woman. She stood in front of them, blocking the TV. Stan tried to crane around her, but she shifted.

"What, Mom? Terrence and Phillip are on!"

"Yeah, Mrs. Marsh, we don't want to miss this one. It's new!" Kyle added.

Sharon still continued to smile. "Don't worry this will only take a minute. So now that you boys are married, are you going to start a family? That can be very important in a married person's life."

Stan and Kyle thought about it for a moment.

"I guess you've got a point," Stan conceded. "But aren't you already my family? Can't me and Kyle help take care of you and Dad?"

"Oh, taking care of your parents is important, Stanley, but I meant having a little family of your own."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "O-okay." He wasn't really sure what his mother was talking about.

"Here."

Kneeling down she handed her son a small white object. Holding it out so that Kyle could see, both boys examined a small, plaster egg. A few nicks and scratches littered the surface, but for the most part the egg looked good as new.

"I found this in the cupboard. It's an old Easter decoration. You boys can have it; I know you've taken care of one before. But luckily this one won't crack!"

She said nothing more. Just pressed the egg a little more firmly into Stan's palm and then turned on her heel and walked out of the living room. Before she was out of earshot, however, she called back.

"Make sure to show how good a dad you can be, Stanley, to your father."

Stan and Kyle stared at one another and then turned their attention to the egg. It looked like any other egg. Its surface was slightly sandy and it felt heavier than normal. Stan smiled at Kyle.

"Let's decorate it!"

"'Kay."

* * *

><p>When Randy returned from the store he had three packages of plastic hangers in a large Wal-Mart shopping bag. Without calling for his wife, he trudged over to the laundry room and tossed his purchase onto the dryer. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer and shrugged his coat off onto the dining room table. Moving towards the backdoor, the man glanced outside at his son's clubhouse.<p>

This time he could make out his son up in the tree, sitting at a makeshift table. Kyle, on the other hand, sat on the patio in his large suit and fake glasses. He had a dictionary open up in front of him with one Terrence and one Phillip plush toy sitting next to him. A large stuffed panda rested on a low garden wall, which wrapped itself about the porch, in front of the redhead. Opening the sliding glass door carefully, Randy pressed his ear to the crack to listen. Kyle was speaking to the toy panda.

"Honor, my clients are artists and as such their work should not be censored."

Randy closed the door covering his face with his hand. Sharon walked into the kitchen. She eyed her husband, but moved to the refrigerator and began pulling out lunch meat, cheese, and mustard.

"You leave them alone, Randy," warned his wife with a slight grin.

Randy moved towards the kitchen table and collapsed into a chair.

"Kyle's a lawyer now." The man said in a monotone. "I'm guessing Stan's in the clubhouse playing housewife."

Sharon nodded, still smiling. "Yep. They switched places about twenty minutes ago."

Randy rubbed his eyes.

"Sharon, you honestly aren't going to let them keep this up, are you?"

His wife pulled bread out of the pantry and slapped it onto the counter. She began fixing two sandwiches. Randy sighed.

"Do you think it's 'cause I didn't pay enough attention to him?"

"What are you talking about, Randy?" Sharon said levelly, her focus on the sandwiches.

"Stan. Maybe if I had been around the house more often he wouldn't have turned out queer. Or maybe I was around too much? Maybe I coddled him? Oh, Sharon it's all my fault!"

The man placed his head in his arms and sobbed. Sharon picked up a large knife from the sink and began cutting the crusts of her two sandwiches. She did not look at her husband as she dropped the utensil back into the sink and then moved to the cupboard to pull out a bag of Cheesy Poofs. She measured out a small amount for each plate and set them on the table. She marched past her husband and threw open the back door. She startled Kyle.

"Oh, hey, Mrs. Marsh." The redhead smiled up at the woman.

"Tell Stanley it's time for lunch. I made turkey sandwiches."

Kyle hopped up, knocking his plush toys aside. He bolted towards the playhouse and began climbing the ladder. Sharon shut the glass door. She now faced her husband's back. Resisting the urge to strike the man on the back of the head, she retreated to the sink where she began washing some dishes.

A few seconds later, the sliding glass door opened and Stan and Kyle rushed inside. Clambering up into their respective seats, each boy pulled his plate close, preparing to eat. Stan set down the small, plaster egg before him. It now had a rather crooked face drawn on the front in blue marker with a small brown cotton ball glued to its narrower pointed end. Leaning the little egg against the salt shaker, he turned to his mother.

"Hey, Mom, can I have soda?"

"No, Stan, you drink your milk."

"Ahh."

Randy lifted his head. He stared at his son and then at the egg in front of him. He pointed to it.

"What's that?"

Stan blinked. "It's Steve."

Randy was afraid to ask. "And who is Steve?"

"Our baby, Mr. Marsh," Kyle explained around a mouthful of turkey and lettuce. He swallowed and smiled at his friend's father. "Mrs. Marsh gave him to us. We're taking care of him 'cause Stan and I wanted to make a family."

Randy glared at his wife.

"Oh, I see."

Sharon folded her arms across her chest daring her husband to make a scene.

"See, Dad, I painted the face on it. Kyle glued on the clothes and the hair. Kyle named him Steve. Mom said that now that me and Kyle are married we needed to start a family. So we did."

Nodding his head, his eyes closed, Randy pushed himself out of his seat. He mechanically steered himself towards the fridge, not looking at his wife or the two boys. He opened the door and pulled out yet another beer. He popped the top, took a sip, and then exited the room. The TV could be heard flicking on in the living room. Stan turned towards his mother.

"Is Dad okay?"

Sharon shook her head. "He's being difficult, is all."

"Maybe he doesn't want me as a son-in-law," Kyle said sadly. Mrs. Marsh moved towards the table. She patted Kyle on his green hat.

"No, that's not it, dear," she explained. "It's just." Sharon paused. Sighing she decided to get straight to the point. She sat down opposite her son. "Stan, your father can be a bit judgmental. He's not really happy that you boys are playing house and pretending to be married."

"Oh, but we told him we weren't pretending."

"Yeah, Mrs. Marsh, we really are married. Kenny was the priest. It was legit."

Sharon smiled. "Well, be that as it may, your father doesn't like the idea. He'd rather you go back to dating Wendy, Stanley."

Stan frowned at this. He glanced at Kyle who didn't catch his eye.

"But Wendy's not fun like Kyle," Stan confessed to his mother. "She can be sometimes, I suppose. And as a girl she smells pretty all the time and looks nice. But I'd rather be with Kyle. Especially if marrying someone means spending your whole life with them. I can get along a lot better with Kyle than I can Wendy."

Sharon folded her hands together. "That's very true, Stan. You should marry someone you would want to be with for a very long time."

Stan reached out and grabbed Kyle's wrist. "And I picked Kyle," he said firmly.

His mother stared at her son's hand wrapped securely about his friend's wrist. She smiled.

"Do you love Kyle?"

Stan started. He looked at Kyle who looked back at him with the same amount of shock.

"Uh…" both boys said together.

"Because marriage is partly about living with someone who is like your best friend, but it's also about living with someone who you love very, very much," continued Stan's mother. She paused, waiting for that to sink in. Stan rubbed his chin, and Kyle blushed.

"Love isn't something you can just throw around lightly either, Stanley, Kyle," she added, staring each boy in the eye in turn. "Do you love each other?"

"Yes!" Kyle all but shouted. His cheeks burned red, and he ducked his head. Stan took a minute to think.

"It's different from how I love you and Dad, isn't it? Or even how I loved Wendy?"

"Perhaps. How did you love Wendy?"

"I loved her hair and holding her hand and when she smiled at me," Stan offered. He still held Kyle's wrist, but gave the redhead a cautionary glance. Kyle still kept his head down.

"But I love Kyle differently than that," Stan continued. "I love him a lot. Not just cause he's my Super Best Friend, but because I can tell him anything, and I know he won't go blabbing to anyone. I love him 'cause I get him, you know? And he gets me. And we can like – um – like –"

"Sit with each other and not talk for the longest time and that's okay," Kyle finished for Stan.

"Yeah what he said," Stan said a cheery expression washing over his face. "We can just be with each other and that's cool. Because it's just us and that's all we need sometimes, Mom."

Blinking several times, Stan's mother stared at the boys. A few seconds slipped by with no response. Standing up suddenly, Sharon moved to the sink. She picked up a plate and began scrubbing it. She didn't look at either boy as she spoke.

"That's nice." Her voice wavered slightly.

Stan tilted his head sideways. He looked at Kyle who shrugged his shoulders. Stan glanced back at his mother.

"Mom, are you okay?"

"Of course, dear. Now, eat your lunch, and then you two can go back outside," said the woman sniffing.

* * *

><p>Later Stan and Kyle were back again inside their clubhouse. Kyle held 'Steve' between his mitten-covered hands. Stan pulled at his overlarge tie.<p>

"Dude, was she crying?" Kyle asked quietly. Stan pushed the washcloth curtain aside. He stared out towards the back door. He couldn't see inside the kitchen.

"I don't know," Stan confessed.

Kyle turned the egg around in his hands to better look at its face. "That's why girls are hard to understand. They don't tell you right away what's wrong. They like you to guess first," the redhead explained to the little egg. "You figure that out when you're older."

"I don't think she was really sad. I think we kind of scared her," Stan said thoughtfully scooting closer to Kyle. He petted the egg on top of its head.

"How did we scare her?" Kyle said narrowing his eyes in confusion. "We didn't do anything."

"I know," Stan sighed. He rested his head against Kyle's shoulder watching the other boy hold their egg. Kyle petted it gently on top of its little brown cotton ball hair.

It grew quiet for a long time. Neither boy spoke. Stan closed his eyes as if trying to sleep.

After several minutes passed, Kyle blurted out, "It was doing this that freaked her out."

"What?" Stan grunted, opening his eyes.

"Just us. Sitting here and being able to do nothing and not caring that we're doing nothing. Is that what made her upset?"

Stan rubbed his face into Kyle's jacket sleeve. He yawned.

"Maybe."

Kyle set the egg down in a bundle of blankets the boys had dragged up into the tree. He stared at it for a moment before continuing.

"I guess married people talk a lot, then," he concluded. "But I know my mom and dad can sit together, just quiet-like and be okay with it. They aren't not talking 'cause they're mad at each other. 'Though they've done that before. No, I've seen them just sit together, holding hands. They're not even watching TV!"

Kyle looked down at Stan who'd slid his way to the floor and curled himself into a ball. Stan's eyes were open, and he stared half-lidded at the clubhouse's exit.

"We've done that, haven't we?" Stan mumbled sleepily. Kyle nodded. "Like at your birthday last year, after Cartman stole all your gifts, you cried…"

"I didn't cry," Kyle interjected huffily.

"Well, you were upset," Stan continued in the same tone. "And we just sat in your room and didn't talk for the longest time. And I – and I held your hand and you said you felt better."

"You always make me feel better, dude," Kyle confessed.

"That's good. Cause I always want to make you feel better."

Stan closed his eyes. Kyle laid down too, pulling the egg closer to them. Resting beside Stan the redhead closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Sharon entered the living room with a book under her arm. Sitting next to her husband, she opened the book and flipped through a few pages.<p>

"Looks like it's starting to snow," Randy commented staring out the window.

"Hmm." Sharon acknowledged with a little sound in her throat.

"The boys should come in," Randy continued. Sharon only turned another page in her book.

"Then go call them in," Sharon said her eyes locked upon her reading.

Randy slouched farther down in his seat. He clutched at the remote.

"But the game. I'll wait 'til commercial," he whined. Sharon looked up, and Randy scooted away from her.

"You should go out and get your son, Randy," repeated Mrs. Marsh.

"Commercial, Sharon," the man wheedled pointing towards the television. Sharon shut her book.

"The boys really care about one another," she stated simply.

Randy rubbed at his moustache. "Don't start this again, Sharon. I know you gave them that egg to mess with me. I won't bother them, and we'll just wait until they get bored and move on to something else."

"I think they might actually love each other, Randy," Sharon insisted her face blank.

Randy shook his head, chuckling nervously. "They're ten, Sharon."

"I know."

"They're not in love. They don't understand love yet," Randy explained. "They will when they're older. And if – and if then they decide they still want to be together; then I won't bother them then either."

Sharon actually smiled.

"But I'm blaming you for any therapy Stan needs in the future and for turning him into a homo."

Sharon's book bounced off of Randy's head neatly, landing right back onto the sofa between the two adults. Sharon, still smiling, picked it up and turned back to her marked page.

"Go get the boys, Randy, it's a commercial."

* * *

><p>Stan awoke warm. He didn't remember falling asleep warm. He remembered falling asleep next to Kyle on the hard, cold, and splintery floor of his clubhouse. But now he lay in his own bed, his jacket and hat hanging off his bedpost. Kyle lay next to him, the redhead's small hand clutching at his friend's white t-shirt.<p>

Glancing out his window, Stan saw the late afternoon sky darken. Clumps of snow drifted down, cluttering his windowsill outside. Kneeling up, the black-haired boy rested his arms against the glass and pressed his face to the cold surface. He pulled back and laughed at the strange smudges he'd made with his nose. A soft sound next to Stan caused him to turn around. Kyle sat up rubbing at his eyes. He looked annoyed. Someone had removed his green hat and placed it on the opposite bedpost from Stan's own poof-ball one. Snatching the ushanka down, Kyle rammed it over his red curls. Stan laughed at him.

"Hello."

"Hey."

"That was a good nap," Kyle confessed.

"Yep." Stan sat down next to his friend.

"Hey, dude, can I ask you something?" Kyle whispered leaning closer to Stan.

"Sure."

Kyle tucked his knees close to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "Do you really love me?"

"Of course, dude." Stan was confused. "Dude, I fucking married you, of course I love you!"

"But like you said earlier. You like me a lot differently than the way you liked Wendy, right?"

Stan nodded. "Yeah."

"So you love me. Like really love me. Like the way people love each other in the movies?"

Stan scoffed. "Dude, movies are bullshit. You know that."

Kyle laughed. "Yeah. You're right."

Stan thought for a moment. He placed a hand on Kyle's shoulder, smiling. "Dude, I can't really tell you how it's exactly different from Wendy. It's just something I know."

"You're right. I sound like a girl."

Stan snorted. "Sort of, yeah."

Kyle straightened up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, not looking at his Super Best Friend.

"Not to sound gay or anything, but I really do love you, Stan," the redhead confessed. "And I'm glad we're married."

"Totally, dude."

The boys hugged briefly and slid off the bed. Stan reached for his own hat and placed it on his head. Kyle scanned the room. Suddenly he spun around and dashed to his jacket. He turned out the pockets, but finding them empty, dropped to his hands and knees and glanced under the bed.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" Stan asked laughing. He sat down at his desk and turned on his computer.

Kyle raised his head. "Where's Steve?"

Stan blanched. "You had him last."

"I know that!" Kyle snapped. Stan frowned. "He must still be in the clubhouse," Kyle concluded. He grabbed his coat and sprinted for the door.

Stan jumped out of his seat, grabbing his own jacket. "Dude, wait up!"

Downstairs the boys hopped off the last step of the staircase and pelted through the living room. Randy lounged on the couch, a new beer in his hand. He looked up as the boys rushed past.

"Woah, Stan, where're you going? It's too cold out to play right now," his father said lazily.

"Dad, we left Steve outside. We got to go get him!" Stan said waving his hands about. Kyle nodded frantically.

Randy blinked. "Steve? Oh, you're little egg. It's right here."

From his chest pocket, Mr. Marsh produced the small plaster egg. Stan and Kyle gaped at it.

Yawning, Stan's father sat up and held out the egg to his son. Stan took it without a word. He smiled up at his dad.

"Thanks."

"I didn't think you boys would want your…um…little egg getting cold. So I brought it in and, uh, babysat it," Randy explained rubbing the back of his neck, cringing slightly at his own words.

"Thanks, Mr. Marsh, you're the greatest."

"Yeah, Dad, thanks."

Randy beamed. He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. He eyed Stan and Kyle seriously.

"You know, boys, being a father isn't easy."

Stan waved his hand back and forth. "Yeah, yeah, Dad."

"No, Stan, I'm serious," Mr. Marsh continued. He pulled his son down onto the couch next to him. "As a dad you've got to make sure your kid doesn't get into trouble."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Dad, you get _me_ into trouble. Like remember at the Pine Wood Derby –"

"Stanley, listen to your father."

Stan and Kyle exchanged looks. Kyle sighed and took a seat next to Stan.

"Now, where was I? Oh, yes, being a dad means you keep your kids in line, but are still kind to them. Keep an eye on them though. Guide them, but don't lead them. Support them, but don't hold their hand every step of the way. You need discipline, but be gentle. Be their friend, but don't forget that you have the power to boss them around too."

"Dad, does this have a point?" Stan complained. Kyle yawned beside him.

"Yes! Now, pay attention. With great parenthood, comes great responsibility," continued Randy.

"Uh, I think that's power, Mr. Marsh," Kyle corrected helpfully.

Randy shook his head. "No, Kyle, its parenthood. But you're too young to really understand that now."

Kyle raised his eyebrows at his best friend. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Anyway, you boys run along now. Have fun playing house."

Stan and Kyle leapt off the couch and ran towards the stairs. They were halfway to the top, before Randy called up to them.

"Oh, and, Stan, another thing."

"What?"

"I support your homosexual lifestyle."

Stan and Kyle looked at each other shaking their heads.

"We're not gay, Dad."

"Yeah, Mr. Marsh, we're just married."

* * *

><p>Back in Stan's room, Kyle wrapped the egg in a cloth searching the room for something to cradle it in. Stan searched too. He pulled out his Halloween bucket from his closet, dumping out any leftover candy wrappers onto the carpet. He offered it to Kyle, but when the redhead placed the egg inside, it wobbled against the sides noisily. Pulling it back out carefully, Stan set the egg on his desktop. Both boys stared at it.<p>

"We really should find a nice place for Steve to sleep in tonight," Kyle said.

"Yeah, but I don't know what to put him in."

"Maybe your baseball cap?" Kyle suggested. Stan frowned, thinking.

"No, it's too flimsy," Stan explained. He gave his room another glance before settling on Kyle. His eyes moved over his friend until they rested on the top of the other boy's head.

"I know," Stan exclaimed. He reached out to grab Kyle's ushanka, but the redhead skipped backwards.

"No way."

"Aww, come on, dude. Your hat's perfect. It's soft and sturdy!"

"No way, Stan. I don't take off my hat."

"You do sometimes."

"Well, I don't want to take it off now."

"But it's for Steve," Stan pleaded. "This way we can keep him safe and comfortable. And he'll be easier to find, 'cause your hat stands out from like miles away."

"What do you mean by that?" Kyle gave Stan a look.

"Nothing!" Stan reassured him. "It's just really noticeable, is all."

"Are you saying it's an eyesore?" Kyle sniffed.

"Dude, I love your hat!"

Kyle shifted from one foot to another. He looked over at Steve sitting innocently on Stan's desk. Noticing his friend's glance, Stan picked up the egg and hugged it to his face. He smiled beseechingly at Kyle.

"Fine," Kyle snapped.

"Sweet."

Kyle yanked off his ushanka and threw it at Stan. The black-haired boy caught it. With the egg still wrapped firmly in its cloth, Stan placed it inside Kyle's green hat. Spreading out the cloth against the hats edges, the egg fit snuggly down inside. Stan placed the hat on his bed and stepped back admiring the makeshift crib.

"See, dude, it's perfect." Stan pulled Kyle into a one armed hug.

Kyle fidgeted with a stray curl that had fallen across his eyes. He pulled it and twisted it between his fingers. He smiled shyly up at Stan.

"I guess it really does make a good bed for Steve, huh?"

Stan nodded. Dropping his arm from around Kyle, he walked back over to his computer which had finally finished booting up. He clicked the internet icon and scrolled through his home page. Kyle leaned against his shoulder staring up at the screen.

"Dude, go to Facebook for me," Kyle said.

Stan glared at him. Kyle grinned.

"Please."

Stan continued to ignore Kyle.

"Aww, come on. I let you use my hat for the baby's crib!"

"Fine!"

Stan typed Facebook into the search engine. Kyle brightened and shoved Stan out of the way in order to get better access to the keyboard.

"I just need to check on my crops. You should totally fertilize some of them, dude. Plus, we could play Yatzee."

"Dude, I fucking hate Yatzee. We even have that stupid board game somewhere in the house. Why would we need to play it on Facebook?"

"Cause its cool," Kyle said in a small voice. Stan frowned.

"It's not, dude."

Kyle continued to pout at the screen. Stan sighed.

"I'll water you plants or whatever. If it'll make you happy," Stan offered. "Then will you get off Facebook and play my computer game with me?"

"Of course," Kyle agreed. "But after you fertilize my crops."

"Yeah, yeah."

Stan logged into his pathetic Facebook page which consisted of only one friend and no wall posts save for the ones sent to him by Kyle. Scrolling through them briefly, Stan snorted to himself. Most of Kyle's wall post revolved around his stupid virtual farm. Finding a link to Kyle's page, Stan found his friend's farms and began watering the plants. Clicking on small virtual patches of leaves and crops, he fertilized the pixilated icons. He even fed a cow or two. At the end Stan added a sign. Turning in his chair to look at Kyle, who had now perched himself upon Stan's bed with his hat and Steve in his lap, the black-haired boy waved his hand at the screen.

"Anything else?"

Kyle blushed pulling at his curly hair once again.

"Well, um, I was thinking. Now, that we're married and all…."

"Yes?" Stan sighed, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, looking annoyed. He waved his other hand for Kyle to spit it out.

"You should set your Facebook relationship status to 'Married,'" Kyle blurted out in one long breath.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Dude."

"For me?"

Stan opened one eye and glared at Kyle. The redhead clasped his hands out in front of him.

"You said you liked making me happy, remember?" Kyle wheedled.

Stan let out another long sigh. He threw his hands up in defeat.

"Fine. I'll do it for you. But I swear that's it!"

Kyle jumped up and threw his arms around Stan. Squeezing Stan tight, Kyle gushed out his thanks. Stan shoved him away.

"Dude, you better stop that. People will actually think we're gay."

Kyle laughed. "Well, they can think what they want." The redhead sat back down on the bed, pulling his hat and the little egg into his lap once more. "But we'll just have to explain that we're not gay, we're just married."

Stan grinned.

"Yep."

* * *

><p>You cannot believe how much fun that was to write. I was grinning the whole time. Haha.<p>

_**Feel free to review. Comments and constructive criticism most welcomed!**_

And remember, Stan and Kyle aren't gay, they're just married. XD


	3. When Did It Get Old?

After episode 1507 I had to write this. It wasn't fun, but kind of cathartic. My hands were literally shaking the entire time I typed this out. Seriously. Sigh, October seems so far away now.

**Summary:** Stan Marsh had never thought about marriage. No, he'd never even contemplated it, until Wendy Testaburger broke up with him.

**Rating:** T for language

**Pairing:** Style - but more childish friendship really

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park.

Damn you, Matt and Trey, for making me care so much about construction paper cut outs and their fictional lives.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Three: When Did It Get Old?<strong>_

Stan had never really thought about marriage. He had seen it as a constant. Something that always existed and would go on existing even long after he'd gone. That was how he'd seen his parents. And by association, that was how he saw himself and Kyle. Their friendship was a constant too. Something that was always there. Something that Stan could turn to if needed. He didn't always need Kyle around, but the idea of having him next to him had always been reassuring. Stan knew that if he fell down or tripped or failed, Kyle would be there, joking and laughing at Stan for fucking up, but there none the less to tell him everything was going to be okay. And even when Kyle didn't voice these words, well to Stan, Kyle's presence just exuded that hopeful feeling.

At least that was what Stan had believed.

He didn't know what to believe anymore.

He had compared his friendship with Kyle to his parents' own relationship. He had believed his mother knew his father like the back of her hand, and she still did for the most part, Stan had concluded. But apparently she'd grown tired of examining, scolding, and fixing what she'd come to understand about her husband. And now, everything was different. Stan had no more constant. Everything had gone to shit, and he had no idea what the next day would bring. And that frightened him more than anything else. The world had changed so much in so little of time. How much would it change tomorrow? Or the next day? Or the next?

Fingering the cool metal of his new swing set's chain links, Stan kicked out at the ground under his feet. He pushed himself a bit, letting the smell of new rubber, metal, and earth fill his senses. It was a nice playground. Stan had conceded that much. However, it was small and too green for his liking. The sandbox behind him was freshly dug and sported a nice assortment of plastic buckets and shovels. Before, he would have found himself happy to dig in the sandbox, building castles and moats with Kyle. Now as Stan looked at the box, it appeared small and trivial. A box filled with sand to play with? How ridiculous did that sound, to play with sand and build things out of it, that in only a matter of days would sink once more into the ground to disappear forever.

Nothing was constant. Nothing was eternal.

"Hey."

Stan lifted his head up. He knew that voice, and he knew that if he turned around he'd see that green hat covered head watching him from behind those cold, black bars. But he didn't turn around; he just gave a slow nod to indicate he'd heard his friend's voice.

From the other side of the black iron fence, Kyle shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Unconsciously, he slipped his mood ring back and forth over his knuckle, scratching his finger with the cheap plastic.

"How are you?" the redhead asked. Stan sighed.

"I feel like shit."

"I-I'm sorry, dude," Kyle whispered, but Stan still caught the words.

He shrugged his shoulders still refusing to turn to his best friend. The boy behind the bars gripped them between his fingers feeling the cold bite of metal. Leaning back he swung his body a little, pulling at the iron bars.

"Do you want to play Xbox?" Kyle offered.

Stan said nothing.

"W-we could …um…go downtown and throw rocks at cars. That's always fun," Kyle suggested. He pulled himself up the bars a bit.

Stan kept swinging slowly back and forth. He still hadn't answered.

Kyle gritted his teeth trying to think of something else fun to do. "We could go make faces at the dialysis patients."

"Why would we do that? That's stupid," Stan scoffed. "Besides with your stupid diabetes you'll probably need that one of these days."

"What?" Kyle slipped off the fence.

"You'll probably die before me too. "

"Stan."

The black-haired boy stood up and turned to face his friend for the first time. Kyle took a step back when he saw the dark and sunken appearance Stan's eyes had taken. It looked like he'd been crying.

"Dude," Kyle whispered softly. "I promise not to die before you do."

Stan crossed the yard, kicking through the sandbox, until he stood just on the opposite side of Kyle.

"You can't promise that," Stan replied in a monotone. Kyle narrowed his eyes.

"I can promise whatever I want! And I will not die before you, asshole!"

Stan gripped the bars. "You'll die some day. And I will too!"

Kyle threw his hands into the air. "SO! What the fuck, dude? Your parents divorced, it's not the end of the fucking world!"

"It is. They shouldn't do this. They can't. Because – because –because…."

Kyle folded his arms across his chest. "Because what, dude?"

"What will happen to us?"

Kyle blinked. Stan ducked his head, hiding his face. He sniffed hard. Kyle stepped closer to the bars. He placed a hand over his friend's fingers that gripped the cold iron.

"Nothing's going to happen to us," Kyle said in a small voice. He tired to laugh. "I mean we can still hang out and stuff. It's not like you moved out of South Park."

Stan pushed himself away from the bars. He examined his friend, his eyes falling on the mood ring resting on the redhead's pointer finger.

Stan pointed to it. "Take that off."

Kyle clutched his ring hand to his chest. He frowned. "Why?"

"It's stupid. Take it off."

"No."

"Kyle, we were just pretending. Take it off, you look like a girl wearing a gay ring," Stan all but shouted. He kicked out at the sandbox.

Kyle blinked several times. "You don't really mean that, do you? You said you liked me differently than Wendy…."

"Well, now I don't know what I like. I don't know anything anymore," Stan said, digging his toe into the crunchy sand.

"I want to keep it on," Kyle whispered. Stan looked up at him. Kyle continued, his voice growing stronger. "And I want to play with you."

Wordlessly, Kyle began to climb up the iron fence. He slipped his first couple of tries, but managed to make it half way before Stan moved closer.

"Dude, stop you're going to hurt yourself," Stan said in a level voice. The idea of Kyle hurting himself annoyed him. Kyle always got hurt. He was the one always needing to be rescued. Kyle and his diabetes, Kyle and his move to San Francisco, Kyle failing to be good at Guitar Hero, Kyle and his stupid hemorrhoid, Kyle and everything else he fucked up that Stan had to save him from or bring him back from. Stan curled his hands into fists watching the redhead struggle to lift his small body over the top of the black bars. Kyle would fall and hurt himself, and it would be up to Stan to comfort him. Like always.

Stan rushed to the fence's side and shook the bars. Kyle swore losing his grip and slipping.

"What the fuck, dude?" Kyle screeched. "I almost fell!"

"Good! Cause when you do I won't be there to catch you or get you your stupid hemorrhoid cream or anything!" Stan roared up at his friend.

Kyle's eyes watered. "Why are you mad at me? What did I do?"

Stan turned around. He needed to kick something else. He jumped into the sandbox and began knocking anything he could reach out into the yard. He didn't turn around when he heard a loud thump behind him. He assumed Kyle had fallen, and he had no desire to see.

Suddenly a hand wrapped around his wrist. Starting Stan spun around to see Kyle clutching at his arm, panting.

"See. I got over the fence. I didn't need your help, asshat," Kyle gloated. Stan tried to tug his arm away.

"Let go."

"No."

"I said let me go, Kyle." Stan shoved his friend to the ground. Kyle stared up at him, trying to blink the tears from his eyes.

"Are we – are we really doing this, Stan?" Kyle asked anger evident in his voice.

Stan glared down at him. He threw up his hands and marched back over to the swing set.

"I thought you loved me," Kyle whispered, glaring at his friend's retreating back.

Stan sat down on his swing. "Yeah, well I thought my mom and dad loved each other too. But things change."

Stan could hear a sob threatening to erupt from Kyle's throat, but the redhead swallowed them down. He picked himself up off the ground and moved to stand in front of Stan.

"You don't really mean that. We aren't like your parents, dude," Kyle said tears finally spilling down his cheeks.

"I thought we were," Stan confessed, avoiding Kyle's eye. "And I thought that was a good thing too."

Without a word Kyle pulled off his green hat, underneath in his bushy red nest of hair sat the little plaster egg he and Stan had dubbed Steve. Stan would have laughed in any other circumstance to see the tiny egg nestled in his friend's unruly curly hair, but today Stan could only scoff at Kyle's lack of judgment. What if his hat had fallen off? What if the egg had gotten loose from under there? Kyle could be clever, but he could also lack a lot of common sense. Stan felt himself growing angry at the thought.

"Dude, what the hell? You put it in your hair. That's totally gay," Stan spat out, trying to start up his swinging again.

Kyle plucked the egg from off his head. "I thought you'd think it safer under there than in my pocket. After all, my hat kept him warm."

"It's a fucking Easter decoration, dude. It won't get cold," Stan said, kicking at the dirt. Kyle wrapped his fingers closer around the egg.

"He's just not a decoration," Kyle argued feebly, his voice losing its edge.

"Yeah he is, dude. We were playin' pretend that he was our kid. Just like we were playin' pretend that we were married."

"You said we weren't playing pretend," Kyle said sadly, his eyes on the egg.

"God, Kyle, you can be stupid. Of course we were playing! For God's sake Kenny fucking married us in his trashy backyard. Butters threw fucking weeds around and Cartman made an aisle with a garden hose! That means nothing. It was shit. That stupid contract was just make believe!"

"But –"

"It's not real, dude. It never was and it's not going to be," Stan continued, getting to his feet and stepping closer to Kyle. The redhead flinched backwards. Stan could see the other boy restraining himself from snapping back at him. A part of Stan really wanted Kyle to grow a pair and hit him in the face. At least he'd feel something.

"Besides we'd just end up divorced like my parents."

Kyle dropped the egg onto the grass. Slowly and looking anywhere but at Stan, Kyle slipped off the mood ring. He set it down beside the egg.

"Fine," Kyle said. He marched back over to the fence and began climbing it once more. Stan followed him. The least he could do was stand under him to make sure the idiot didn't fall.

"It's for the best, dude. We were just acting like stupid kids," Stan offered. Kyle grunted his reply as he swung his leg over the rails. He paused staring down at the ground below him. He was rather high up, and Stan wasn't waiting on this side of the fence.

"Goodbye, Stan," Kyle said flatly. He dropped down to the grass. He stumbled at first, but picked himself back up. The redhead waited his back still to the fence. He waited for Stan to say goodbye too.

But all Kyle heard was the slam of the backdoor. Glancing over his shoulder, Kyle saw that his best friend had disappeared.

* * *

><p>God, this was sad to write. I will never be able to hear Landslide again with out thinking of Stan and Kyle.<p>

_**Feel free to review. Comments and Constructive Criticism welcomed.**_


	4. I Remember You

So, I thought I'd have to wait until the new episode in October to feel inspired to write more of this fic. But after watching the latest interview with Matt and Trey on the Daily Show a few weeks back, I was suddenly inspired to continue this tale now. If you haven't seen that particular interview, do so. It had Matt and Trey say they loved writing the "You're Getting Older" episode and that they couldn't wait to see what happens next in the season to come. As a writer, I couldn't help but smile, because it showed me how great of writers they really were. To say they "looked forward to what happens next" just means to me that they trust their characters enough to lead them through a wonderful episode. After all any good writer will tell you that its your characters that move the story, and if they're created well then you'll always have a good story.

Anyway, enough talk, here's the next chapter. Enjoy.

**Summary:** Stan Marsh had never thought about marriage. No, he'd never even contemplated it, until Wendy Testaburger broke up with him.

**Rating:** T for language

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is only for fun.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Four – I Remember You<strong>_

The machines in the arcade glared an ugly red and blue glow over its patrons. Large groups of teenagers and school children milled about the loud, clunking games; shouting and hollering over the racket. The DDR machines groaned with its hoard of giggling high school girls who shoved playfully at one another for turns. Fighting games rattled with the sound of bullets puncturing zombie and alien flesh. In the corner a young man with greasy hair rode a fake water ski, the mechanical contraption rotating back and forth to the scenery flashing by on the pixilated screen.

Stan Marsh stood next to the vending machines and a broken-down claw game. The seventeen-year old leaned against the cool glass of the prize machine, watching the metal claw within it rock back and forth. The bottom was littered with plastic bubbles encasing tiny slinkies, stale candy bracelets, and mood rings. Stan stared at the prizes. He frowned. A small part of him wished the machine wasn't out of order. Stan couldn't remember the last time it had worked. He strained his memory for a time the game had been up and running, but his memory only threw up a painful image of a younger Stanley at the age of ten, wasting four dollars and fifty cents in quarters to snatch one particular mood ring.

In the years that had passed, Stan and his family had moved on. His mother now dated another man who insisted Stan call him friend; his father had purchased an RV and moved from one spot to another around the small mountain town, never in one place for long; and as for Shelley, she had left South Park, traveling across the country to a school on the east coast. Stan received an email from her every Friday while Randy visited every other weekend. At first Stan had been upset at these changes, but as he grew older, he became accustomed to their disappointment. He learned quickly to replace the painful feelings rumbling around in his head with coolness, numbness. He taught himself to sit back and view the world, neither commenting on it nor acting within it or ever really seeing it. Life would pass by and he need not bother himself with its ever transforming nature. Reaction towards change never helped stop it or distracted it from its determined course. So, Stan taught himself not to want and not to care about it.

He didn't need anything from life.

Although he still lived in the same small town and went to the same school as other teenagers in South Park, Stan ignored most of his neighbors and classmates. Everything he did seemed an extension of formality. He walked through life as if programmed. Football practices were routine and mechanical. He sprinted, jumped, and dodged down the playing field without passion. If his team lost, he did not fret and if they won he did not rejoice. He treated each outcome as if they were simple choices of fate, where one day life chose for Stan to lose and on another decided he deserved a victory. During school he passed the time in classes, taking notes and listening to the drone of his teachers. He filled out college applications when told and earned decent grades when expected.

Life continued and Stan existed.

A group of middle school kids pushed past Stan on their way to the vending machines. The teen shuffled his feet, moving deeper into the arcade's shrieking and flashing space. He paused next to the DDR machine to watch an Asian kid about his own age take the plastic covered stage and begin playing a new round. Some of the girls who'd played on it earlier stopped and stared. Annoyed by the twittering the high school girls made, Stan shoved past them as well. Before he knew where his feet were taking him, Stan found himself standing before an old Guitar Hero game. It was a sorry affair with a cracked screen and dented speakers. Miraculously both toy guitars had remained connected to the game, their cords, however, slightly frayed and worn in places.

Stan checked his watch, noting that Kenny was late. It wasn't anything to fuss over, Stan told himself. Kenny's priorities often wandered. It would not surprise Stan if the blond and often hooded teen appeared before him, claiming his tardiness was caused by a sexual foray.

Moving closer to the Guitar Hero game, Stan peered at the digital crowd cheering in front of the fake stage. A demo rolled across the screen and two rather ugly looking avatars strummed guitars.

Stan was about to turn around and head to the front of the arcade, but a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.

"Stan?"

Turning slowly Stan faced a curious-looking Kyle Broflovski. Stan took a step backward. He wasn't stunned to see Kyle. It wasn't as if the two had parted ways, never to see one another ever again. They shared several classes at school and often greeted one another in the hallways. Kyle even attended a few of Stan's football games, cheering his friend on.

No, Stan had taken a step backwards, because of Kyle's proximity. The other boy stood no more than a few inches away from Stan. The distance between them was nothing unusual or bold. Rather Stan reacted more from a realization that it had been years since he had actually looked at Kyle properly. Stan had never really noticed how his old friend had changed over the years. Or really how little he had changed.

Kyle's curly hair still sprung out all over the place barely contained beneath a familiar green ushanka. His face, plastered with the same amount of freckles, still seemed perpetually set in a thoughtful scowl accented by bright green eyes. What _had_ changed about Kyle was hardly noticeable to Stan. The redhead now wore a thick pair of square glasses which perched low upon his long nose. Kyle appeared a lot thinner in his teenage years, his shoulders bony and painfully angular. And although Kyle had grown much during adolescence, Stan now stood almost a foot taller than him.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle said a bit louder as if he thought his friend hadn't heard him. He smiled politely.

Stan blinked. He nodded his acknowledgement and forced a small smile. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at a spot some inches above his old friend's head. Stan suddenly made a great show of reading the hazards and warnings sign posted above a large cluster of racing games. Kyle took a quick look over his shoulder to see what caught his friend's attention, but finding the sign dull brought his eyes back to Stan.

"So, how are you?" Kyle asked slowly. He put his own hands inside his jacket pockets and looked up at Stan.

His eyes still not on Kyle, Stan answered with a monotone. "Good. Can't complain."

"That's good," Kyle said.

"Yep."

"So…uh…good game last Friday."

"Uh, thanks."

"Yeah."

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. He scanned the arcade, hoping to find Kenny sauntering towards him. At that moment Stan's phone buzzed once. Without even excusing himself to Kyle for pulling out his phone, Stan flipped it open and saw a tiny pixilated envelop in the middle of his phone's screen. He clicked on the icon and found a hasty text.

It read: _Sry dude. At courthouse. Blame, Fatass. Raincheck k?_

Kyle peered at the phone with a polite curiosity. When Stan shut it and replaced it in his back pocket of his jeans, Kyle smiled.

"So, what's up?" Kyle asked, nodding his head to indicate the phone text.

"Kenny was supposed to hang with me today. Looks like Cartman got him in trouble," Stan explained, shrugging. He didn't really care. Those two often schemed together, trying to get rich quick. Stan often felt like he ought to step up and rein them in, but that task fell to Kyle most of the time. And Stan didn't want to interfere.

Kyle frowned at the mention of Cartman. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I wonder if I should go help them out," Kyle mused to Stan. The taller boy didn't comment, just gave another shrug.

"Did they say where they were?" Kyle asked. Stan told him that Kenny was at the courthouse. Kyle sighed.

"On second thought he can handle this himself," Kyle scoffed. "I bailed his ass out of ticket last month when he thought it would be funny to do doughnut holes with his motorcycle right outside the mayor's office."

Stan looked intrigued.

"He has a motorcycle?"

Kyle waved his hands dismissively. "It's a piece of shit really. He found it down in the county dump and fixed it up," Kyle explained. "I refuse to ride with him though. Not until he learns to stay below the speed limit, and the stupid thing stops dropping parts of its motor on the road."

Stan didn't respond, but found his lip twitching into a grin. Kyle's overly precautious attitude towards mischief had always amused him. He missed listening to his friend's ranting.

"Hey, are – are you doing anything right now?" Stan asked. Kyle, who'd been scowling with a thoughtful look in his eyes, blinked and turned to Stan.

"Hmm? What?"

Stan ran his hand absentmindedly through his hair. It stuck up slightly in the back.

"I mean, do you want to hang for like awhile? I got nothing else to do," Stan rambled still not catching the other's eye.

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, why not?"

It was Kyle's turn to shrug. "Dude, we haven't like hung out in ages. It's like I only ever see you at school and shit."

Stan swung his arms distractedly. "I know. But – but do you want to hang out now? I mean if you got somewhere to be, I won't stop –"

"No!" Kyle said. He colored slightly, realizing how quickly he'd replied. "I mean, no, dude. I got nothing else going on either. I was just here with Ike an hour ago, but he left his sunglasses here and I said I'd come back and look for them."

Stan smiled. "I can help you look for them, if you want?"

Kyle shook his head, pulling the pair of shades from his pocket. "No big deal, dude. Already found them. And he won't mind not getting them back right away."

"Oh…"

"Want to play Guitar Hero?" Kyle asked abruptly pointing at the old machine. He moved towards it and picked up one of the controllers. Stan frowned.

"Uh, actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to leave. It's too loud in here for me. And all these stupid lights give me a headache," Stan complained. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I don't care what we do." Kyle replaced the guitar controller. "Want to get something to eat?"

"Not hungry, really."

"Yeah, me neither."

Stan scoured the games and machines around him as if looking for an answer. He glanced over towards Kyle and for a split second both boys locked their gazes. Stan looked away first.

"Want to come hang out at my place? I got _Zombie Razors IV_ for the Xbox. You should play it with me," Stan offered. Kyle's face brightened, a large grin stretching his narrow face.

"Dude, sweet. Let's go!"

* * *

><p>Stan lived in a large apartment complex with his mother. The building, covered in dead hanging vines, rested at the far end of town. Behind the large building was a flourishing park complete with walkways and gardens. At the moment the apartment grounds were colored red and yellow with dying foliage, the full onset of winter having yet to take hold. A rare occasion for South Park.<p>

Behind the building was a large playground. Stan averted his eyes from it as they entered through the back stairway. He fiddled for his keys, dropping them once. He became suddenly very aware of Kyle's gaze. The redhead had turned to face the playground, examining the black iron bars stretched around the jungle gym and swings. He didn't make any comment, but Stan couldn't help notice how Kyle's mouth drooped into a small frown. His green eyes glassy and almost unseeing, as if he looked right past the playground and saw something else beyond.

Frantically pushing open the door, Stan stumbled onto the first flight of stairs. Kyle followed chuckling and closing the door behind him.

"Dude, you okay?" asked the redhead, mounting the staircase next to his friend.

Stan smiled sheepishly. "The door just sticks, is all. Had to give it a shove."

Kyle nodded.

The apartment building consisted of only two stories. The boys found Stan's apartment within minutes, located at the farthest end of the hall. Stan had his key ready, but before he could open his front door however, it was pulled open from within. The two teens came face to face with Stan's mother Sharon. She smiled as she noticed her son.

"Stanley, I was just going to call you," she said, tucking her purse under her arm. She looked over Stan's shoulder and paused, noticing Kyle for the first time.

"Kyle? Is that you? How have you been?" She pushed past Stan and took Kyle's hand, and gave the boy a hug. "It's been awhile. How's your mother doing?"

Kyle replied that his mother was doing well. He smiled politely and made small talk. He related how his home life was going. He reassured Sharon that his mother was in perfect health and that Ike had made honor roll once again. Sharon pulled Kyle inside the apartment and offered him a drink. Stan hovered awkwardly in the corner. Sitting at the round kitchen table, Kyle shed his coat and slung it over the chair. He continued to chat amiably with Stan's mother, telling her about his latest Mathlete competition.

Leaning against the wall, Stan watched his mother produce a glass and set it before Kyle. Stan hesitated to join the conversation, feeling suddenly very aware of how strange it was to have Kyle inside his home, sitting at his kitchen table. An odd ache, an almost wrenching feeling twisted in Stan's chest. For a moment he feared he might throw-up, but he knew this sensation wasn't really nausea. No, Stan could only call it fear. He didn't know why he was scared, but he had no other name for it. Was he afraid of Kyle? No, that couldn't be it.

"Stan, are you listening to me?" His mother crossed her arms.

Starting, Stan shuffled out of his corner. "Yeah, Mom, what?"

"I'm going out with Roy tonight. I'll be back late. I left money on your dresser for you to order take out if you want." She turned to Kyle. "Feel free to stay as long as you like, dear."

"Thanks."

With that said Sharon left her son and his friend. Kyle turned to Stan and fitted a small grin on his face.

"Your mom seems…happy," he said in a soft voice. Stan nodded but didn't reply.

The apartment was small. The kitchen and living room, divided by a high bar, made up the majority of the home. The kitchen melded into the dining area and living room seamlessly. It wasn't so much separate rooms, but one large room with furniture designating where one section of the apartment began and the other ended. A short hallway led to Stan's bedroom on the left while across from the front entrance was his mother's room. Sliding wooden doors hid a washer and dryer.

Moving to the couch, Stan flopped down and picked up the remote.

"So, still want to play _Zombie Razor_?" he asked, flicking on the television. Kyle moved from the kitchen table and dropped hesitantly onto the sofa. He sat near the edge, pressing himself against the armrest. He eyed Stan carefully.

"Sure, dude, whatever you want," he said. Stan slid off the couch and turned the Xbox on. Fixing the television to the right channel, Stan inserted the game and crawled back to the couch. The living room wasn't very wide. Stan didn't have far to move about. Kyle kept his eyes on his friend, quiet and thoughtful in his gaze. He smiled and said a soft 'thanks' when Stan handed him a controller. Pressing start, Stan loaded up the game. Soon howls and cries issued from the television as zombies hauled themselves across the screen towards Stan and Kyle's players. Button mashing ensued with no talk. Every now and then Stan or Kyle would let out a small cheer or curse depending on what happened in the game. They played a timed level, running their players through a warehouse burning to the ground. Zombies swarmed them and the utmost attention was needed to defeat the stage. Kyle's player shot down two zombies, but caught off guard took a swipe to the side of the head from a third. Stan's player rushed the threatening monster from the rear and blew off its head.

"Thanks, dude," Kyle said. He leaned over and thumped Stan playfully on the back with his knuckles. Stan, almost instinctively, shied away from the touch.

Kyle ducked his head, his gaze turning back to the television. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Stan lied.

This happened several more times throughout the game. Kyle or Stan would obtain a new goal or reach a mass level of kills and the game would reward them with extra lives and loot. Yet, each time Kyle tried to engage Stan in some kind of physical contact, whether a high five or fist bump, Stan cringed from the gesture. Eventually Stan focused his eyes on only the TV screen, ignoring Kyle sitting beside him. His fear racking his body, Stan cursed himself. He still didn't understand the panic growing within him. A small part of him believed that if he touched Kyle or looked at him fully, really examined his friend, Stan might break some kind of spell that kept Kyle at his side. Stan didn't want to dissolve the illusion that for once, after seven years; the two of them were acting like proper friends.

Once again after a win against the zombies on screen, Kyle pumped his fist into the air and without thinking bumped his hand against Stan in a playful manner. Stan actually scooted down the couch away from the redhead.

"Dude," Kyle whispered.

"It's cool," Stan lied once more.

They turned back to the television.

Kyle paused the game just as Stan's player reeled about to kill a large masked zombie. Kyle faced Stan, dropping his controller beside his leg.

"No, it's not," he said in a level voice. Stan froze at the words. The urge to run and flee his apartment overwhelmed him. He stared at Kyle, taking in the concerned expression warping the boy's mouth into a tight frown. Stan found himself on his feet, not sure why he had stood. He did know he didn't want Kyle to examine him, analyze him. He knew from the way Kyle's eyes scanned him, the redhead was searching for an answer for Stan's cringing and his unfriendliness. For his silence. For everything.

Kyle stood too, blocking Stan from his hallway. In such a small apartment it wasn't much of a feat. Stan contemplated pushing Kyle out of the way. The redhead was a lot smaller than him, and overpowering Kyle probably wouldn't prove that difficult. But something in Kyle's determined stance warned Stan otherwise.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Stan narrowed his eyebrows, puzzled. "Nothing."

Kyle frowned, not believing the claim. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why are we hanging out? What's different from yesterday? Or the day before that?" Kyle blurted out. Stan flinched; he could hear the anger flaring up in Kyle's voice.

"I don't know. You wanted to hang out, right?" Stan offered, rubbing at the back of his neck. He tried to smile. "I don't see what's the big deal –"

"Stan, it's been seven years since you've looked me in the eye and talked to me outside of school," Kyle deadpanned. Stan backed away.

"Yeah, well, I guess I just wanted to hang out like we use to. But if you don't like it, you can leave," Stan shot, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning back to the couch. He threw himself upon the cushions and flicked the television on, changing the station to a mundane and loud reality show. Kyle stared at him from across the room.

Regaining his composure, Kyle stomped towards the front door.

"I'm leaving," he declared. Stan made a grunt of acknowledgment.

From the couch, Stan heard the door yanked open and then slammed shut. Kyle's boots thumped angrily down the hall, fading out of earshot. Stan returned his attention to the television, sinking lower into the couch almost watching the screen through his knees. Thunder rumbled outside and rain began to batter the windows.

The ache inside him hadn't subsided. It felt worse, much worse. For a minute Stan debated about rushing to the restroom, afraid he might hurl the contents of his stomach. But a strange lethargy kept him prone on the sofa, staring at the flashing colors of the television show.

Suddenly rapid knocking shook the front door. Stan started and jumped up off the couch. He stood in the middle of the room waiting as the knocking sounded again. Stan stumbled frantically towards his front door. He paused, his hand on the door knob, his heart pounding in his throat. His whole arm shook as he pulled open the door.

Kyle stood on the threshold his fist raised ready to knock again.

Stan stared at him and slowly Kyle lowered his arm. Both teens didn't move.

"I forgot my coat," Kyle finally explained.

Stan nodded and stepped back as Kyle slipped inside and picked up his jacket. He slung it around his shoulders and turned back to Stan.

Stan closed the front door.

"I'm leaving, Stan," Kyle whispered.

Stan looked at his hands. "Okay."

Kyle didn't move. "I'm going to leave."

"Alright."

"I'm not going to come back."

"You do that."

Without warning Kyle slammed his fist onto the kitchen table. Stan jumped hitting his back against the wall.

"GODDAMMIT, STAN!"

"What?" Stan looked wildly around.

"Do you want me to fucking leave?" Kyle roared. "Do you want me to walk out that door?

Stan's face drained of color. He didn't say anything.

"Do you?" Kyle repeated.

"No."

"What?"

"No, I don't want you to leave," Stan confessed, moving closer. He kept his eyes focused on Kyle's fists now clenched on the back of the chair.

"You mean that?" Kyle pressed, taking a step closer too.

"Yes. Don't leave m- yet. Don't leave yet," Stan begged. Kyle dropped his hands to his sides, staring at anywhere but his friend.

After a few moments passed between them, Kyle spoke.

"I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat," he ordered, putting off his coat and sitting on the couch. He looked expectantly up at Stan.

Nodding Stan ventured down the hall to his bedroom. Inside, he kicked a few pairs of discarded jeans out of his way as he headed towards his dresser. Just as his mother had said, several bills rested on top. As Stan approached, his eye caught sight of a small post-it with his mother's tight handwriting. Stuffing the money in his back pocket, he picked up the note and skimmed it.

The note read:

_Stan,_

_Here's some cash for dinner tonight. Don't wait up. I'll be out late. Have a good evening, sweetie._

_Love Mom_

_P.S. I found something interesting today while cleaning out your drawers. Check the top one! _

His mother ended the note with a small smiley face. Stan dropped the note back on his dresser and yanked open his first drawer. Inside his mother had kindly reorganized his socks and boxers, folding them into neat piles. Right in the middle resting upon a pair of rolled socks was a small plaster egg decorated with permanent marker. Stan stared at the object for several seconds not really seeing it at first.

Sudden footsteps in the hallway jolted Stan out of his reverie. He slammed his drawer closed and spun around to see Kyle step inside his room.

"Dude, are you okay?" Kyle asked in a small voice. He looked a lot less confident than he had been out in the kitchen.

"I'm fine," Stan said instantly. Kyle gave him a look, scanning him for a minute, but not finding anything odd, shrugged his shoulders.

"Your TV's acting weird. I think it's the storm," Kyle commented, moving back down the hall. Stan followed.

"It gets like that," Stan replied, pulling out his cellphone. "Uh, what do you want to eat?"

Kyle was back on the couch, flipping through the channels. He hit the remote every now and then when the television refused to change.

"Chinese sounds good."

* * *

><p>By the time their food arrived, the storm had increased its intensity outside. Branches from a nearby oak thrashed the windows in the living room. Rain pounded the roof, and because Stan and his mother resided on the second floor it echoed even more loudly. The wind howled as lightning forked the sky. The Chinese delivery guy arrived dripping wet. Kyle contributed some of his own money to add an extra tip for the delivery boy's troubles. As the two boys returned to the apartment laden with little white Chinese take-out boxes, the power died and they were pitched into darkness.<p>

"Shit," Stan cursed, stomping over to the kitchen table and dumping his food cartons down. He then marched over to the sink and opened a drawer. He pulled out a long lighter and tested it. It didn't work.

"Are there matches?" Kyle asked, trying to peer into the drawer in the darkness.

"There should be. My mom's got plenty of candles," Stan said. It was true. His mother liked those silly, flowery scented candles. A whole variety of colors and smells roamed the apartment. A row of them lined a shelf above the television. The bookcase in the corner held three. Down the hallway, stands rested covered in candles, potpourri, and lace. Even in the bathrooms, Stan's mother had placed her mini pink candles as decoration. Stan would find himself staring at a tiny row of them every time he had to take a piss.

Stan shoved the contents of the drawer one way and then another. Not finding any matches, he stumbled down the hall towards his mother's room. He checked the top of her dresser and bedside table. Nothing. No matches anywhere.

Returning to the kitchen, Stan squinted in the dark and found Kyle standing close to the wall, waiting.

"Find any?" Kyle asked when Stan made his way over. The redhead had to reach out his hand and find where Stan stood. Stan caught hold of Kyle's fingers and drew closer.

"No. Dammit, Mom, this is something Dad would do," Stan complained.

"What?" Kyle asked. Stan realized he must be standing a bit too close to his friend. Kyle's breath had brushed against his cheek. Stan shivered pleasantly.

"Having a house filled with candles and no fucking matches," Stan deadpanned.

"Yeah, that's something your dad would do," Kyle laughed. "Guess your mom just forgot to restock."

"I'm going to check the drawers in the kitchen one more time." Stan let go of Kyle's fingers reluctantly and felt his way towards the kitchen. For a split second, lightning flashed outside and the apartment was lit. Stan, taking the opportunity, dashed around the table. He searched thoroughly, and was rewarded with a crumpled pack of matches. Only two were left.

"Found some," Stan cheered.

"Sweet, dude."

A few minutes later, Stan and Kyle sat at the foot of the couch with Chinese take-out boxes clustered around them. The candles flickered a warm glow against the pasty beige walls. Shadows danced against the television screen, distorting Stan and Kyle's reflections in it. Lightning struck outside, and thunder continued to thrash against their eardrums. They didn't say much as they munched on egg rolls and low mein.

Stan picked up a box filled with brown noodles. He sniffed it warily, and then plucked a few from the box with his chopsticks.

"Dude, don't you want some sweet and sour chicken?" Kyle offered, waving one of his own boxes under Stan's nose.

"Uh…I'm trying to be vegetarian," Stan whispered. He was glad it was so dark because he felt his face warm with color.

Kyle snorted. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Stan said defensively.

Kyle shrugged. "Whatever, dude. If it's what you like."

After a few seconds passed, Stan decided to change the topic.

"So, want to hear something funny?" he asked, feeling his face burn even brighter.

Kyle had stuffed a large piece of chicken in his mouth and tried to talk around it.

" W'a?" Kyle swallowed. "What?"

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, staring at his reflection in the television. He clacked his chopsticks together trying to look nonchalant, but then stopped when he realized that Kyle probably couldn't see him blushing anyway.

"In my sock drawer, I found that old egg we used to pretend was our…uh…baby," Stan laughed. "It's still got the little face painted on it and everything."

Kyle put down his food. "Really?"

"Yeah. Weird, I don't even remember putting him in my drawer…." Stan paused, looking sheepishly up at Kyle.

"You kept him?" Kyle repeated slowly.

"Must have stuck him behind something. I don't know; my mom found him for me."

"Can I see him?" Kyle asked slowly.

Stan nodded and got to his feet. He grabbed a small candle from the coffee table and headed down the hall. He had to catch himself when he realized he was almost running. He threw open his drawer and snatched the egg up. Just as he moved his hand out, his pinky brushed against something rough and plastic. Feeling around inside the drawer and under a pair of boxers his fingers clasped around an odd circular object. Bringing it close to his eyes, he realized the strange object was a plastic ring with a fake stone set atop it. He stuffed it in his pocket.

Out in the living room, Stan called to Kyle. "Heads up, dude."

He tossed the egg, and Kyle caught it on the tips of his fingers, laughing. Kyle brought it close to his eyes and tried to examine the face. He got to his knees and shuffled towards the coffee table at the end of the couch, bringing the egg into the candlelight. Stan replaced his own small candle beside the others and sat down on the floor.

"Dude, I can't believe you kept him," Kyle laughed again. Stan chuckled.

"Yeah." Stan knelt down beside Kyle. "Dude, remember when we played house?"

"If I remember correctly, we kept telling everyone we were married."

"God, we were stupid."

Kyle shrugged. "I thought it was fun."

"Yeah, I guess." Stan shrugged offhandedly.

Kyle continued, still examining the egg, "No, I did like it, dude. I mean, I think I actually got you to play on Facebook with me for awhile cause of it."

"Oh yeah," Stan said, scrunching up his nose at the thought of the social website. He took the egg from Kyle and began examining it too. The ink on the egg's face was faded and the smile smudged.

"You put him in your hair."

Kyle sat back. "Yeah, that was so retarded."

"I want to see you do it again," Stan joked. He leaned over Kyle and removed his friend's hat. Kyle didn't protest and let Stan settle the small plaster egg amongst the mass of red curls.

Stan leaned back. "Cute."

"Well, that's good," Kyle laughed, sitting back carefully so as not to disturb the egg.

Stan stared at Kyle for a few seconds, watching the other boy carefully pick up his dinner and chopsticks and continue eating. The egg teetered a bit on top of Kyle's puffy locks, but remained snug and safe.

"I have the ring too," Stan blurted out. Kyle choked on a piece of sweet and sour chicken.

Pounding his fist against his chest, Kyle grabbed for his glass of soda. He took a long swig and swallowed several times. Calming down, he turned to Stan.

"Dude, why the hell do you still have all this?" Kyle asked, plucking the egg out of his curly hair and returning it to Stan.

Stan couldn't answer. He didn't know why he still had them. He just knew he never could get rid of either the egg or the ring. He could recall several times in the past, when he'd searched or cleaned out his drawers, discovered the objects, and then reburied them amongst socks and junk only to find them a year or two later after another spring cleaning. He couldn't explain to himself why he hadn't tossed them in the garbage ages ago. And he didn't know why he was showing them to Kyle now.

"Are you okay, Stan?" Kyle asked.

Stan scooted away from the other and rested his back against the couch. He stared at the egg in his hand and debated about throwing it across the room. He thought maybe doing that he might just laugh off this awkward moment, grin and then finish his Chinese noodles without a care.

"Stan?"

"What?"

"You want to know something funny, too?"

Stan shrugged still staring at the egg. His wrist twitched with the urge to chuck the egg over towards the television.

"I still have that fake marriage license Kenny made for us."

Stan felt his body stiffen. The strange churning, wrenching started up in his chest. He was scared again. Nausea rippled his insides. Kyle inched closer, and Stan felt his own body jerk away.

"Stan?" Kyle's voice was barely audible in the dark.

"What if you leave again?" Stan whispered.

"Why would I leave? I'm not done with my food, dude," Kyle laughed nervously.

Stan turned his head, catching Kyle's eye. "You know what I mean."

Kyle frowned. He reached out and snatched his hat off the ground from between them, stuffing it atop his head. He leaned back against the couch and glared at the television screen.

"Well, if you'd stop pretending I didn't exist when you saw me at school…." Kyle snapped.

"I don't pretend you don't exist…." Stan argued feebly. Kyle hit Stan in the shoulder.

"Stan, just tell me whether you want me around or not. I'm sick of guessing. I'm tired of only seeing you in class or at your games. I told myself you needed space, and so I left you alone. But then you kept ignoring me. It's been going on for years. But the thing is, instead of cutting me off completely, you kept talking to me, kept acknowledging our friendship, so I thought maybe you'd come around. There were times when I thought you were going to grow a pair and apologize for being a dick, but you didn't. And sometimes I wondered to myself why the hell I still stuck around…."

Kyle trailed off becoming extremely interested in his chopsticks. He poked around the contents of his cold dinner.

Stan opened and closed his mouth trying to find a retort. But discovering none, he asked the first question that popped into his head.

"Why did you keep the pretend marriage certificate?"

Kyle stabbed another piece of chicken.

"Why did you keep the egg and ring?"

Both Stan and Kyle looked up at the same moment. They stared each other down, waiting for an answer. Kyle pushed his glasses up his nose in a huffy manner. Stan clutched at his stomach.

"I couldn't throw them away," Stan finally said. "They reminded me of you."

Kyle let out a breath he'd been holding. Stan scooted closer to his friend.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for ignoring you and everything. I was a stupid kid. A really stupid kid. I just couldn't – I just…. When my parents divorced, I thought nothing could be good in the world. Everything felt and looked like shit. Even you. And I was scared to look at you or talk to you…cause what if it got worse? What if you just always seemed _horrible _to me? Or what if it stopped, but then I did something or you said something that made me think of you like that again."

Stan ducked his head, raking his fingers through his hair. He tugged at it, staring at his shoes.

"Do I look like shit to you now?" Kyle asked quietly. Stan shook his head.

"I stopped paying attention to things. I didn't want to see how shitty they could be," Stan explained. He watched Kyle scoot closer to him.

"You should stop that, you know," Kyle said. He grabbed Stan's hand and squeezed his fingers. "Things can seem shitty, but it doesn't last. It eventually gets better."

"It's hard. I don't want to feel like that again," Stan confessed.

Kyle wrapped an arm around Stan's shoulders. "How do you feel now?"

"I was feeling…nothing," Stan whispered. He rested his head against Kyle's cheek. "I feel a lot better now."

"That's good."

"I'm still scared it'll happen again though."

Kyle sighed. "Then let it happen, dude. You can't live your life by not paying attention to it. That's stupid. Things can suck and things can hurt and seem like shit, but you see it gets better. Your parents divorced, but isn't your mother happier? Don't you still see your father? The world didn't end, did it?"

"I lost you," Stan cringed.

Kyle laughed softly. "Dumbass, you never lost me."

Stan wrapped his own arm around Kyle's waist, pulling him closer. A sudden urge to have his friend as near as possible to him washed over Stan. Kyle nuzzled his head into Stan's shoulder and the two sat in silence, watching Sharon's candles flicker low. Stan could see their reflection in the television screen. At first he was going to try and lighten the mood, make a joke about how silly they must look, but the longer he examined the image, the less he wanted to break it. He liked holding Kyle. His stomach still twisted, and he felt rather queasy, but his fear was lifting.

After a few minutes had passed, Kyle lifted up his head. Stan kept his arms around his friend's waist. They stared at one another their noses lightly touching.

"Stan…."

"Yeah?"

Stan was shaking, and Kyle fidgeted with his green hat, pulling it with one hand and grasping at the sleeve of Stan's letterman jacket. Their noses knocked together again, and Stan looked away. He could feel Kyle's breath against his face.

"You know, Stan, when we were kids. And you wanted to marry me, I thought it was the craziest thing you'd ever asked me," Kyle confessed. "But I also thought it was the nicest thing too."

Stan pressed his forehead to Kyle's. He tugged at the other boy's hat and yanked it away.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, and I can remember you put on your dad's tie and I wore my dad's old coat –"

Closing his eyes, Stan ran a hand through Kyle's red curls.

"And I told you I wanted to make you happy…I kinda fucked that up," Stan sighed, gripping his arm tighter around Kyle's waist. Kyle wrapped his own arms around Stan's neck.

"You did," Kyle agreed in a low breath. "But you can make me happy now."

"Cool."

Their eyes met and Stan leaned his head forward. Kyle's eyes drifted closed. Their noses brushed once again. Kyle's hands tangled in Stan's hair and Stan found his own fingers resting lightly on Kyle's hips.

And then Stan threw up.

The two boys wrenched apart and Kyle scrambled to his feet cursing. Stan sat on the floor, gaping up at his friend.

"What the fuck, dude?" Kyle shrieked. Stan stunned, awkwardly pulled himself up.

"I-I-I'm so sorry, Kyle! I didn't mean it! Honest! You just looked – I mean I – I don't…," Stan stammered, holding out his hands.

Kyle glared at him, but taking several breaths, closed his eyes and reeled in his temper.

"It's fine, dude. Just let me clean this up. Ugh…so fucking gross," Kyle bemoaned. He shuffled his way to the bathroom. Stan followed behind his friend, bringing with him a large candle.

In the bathroom, Stan lit his mother's decorative candles above the toilet and then helped Kyle remove his soiled jacket and t-shirt. He ambled out of the room, and Kyle slammed the door behind him. Still in his daze, Stan loaded Kyle's dirty clothes into the washing machine. He hoped the power would come back on soon. He didn't like the idea of washing his friend's clothing in the kitchen sink. Just then, the bathroom door swung open, and a pair of jeans was hurled against the wall.

"Clean those too," Kyle commanded, before shutting the door again. Stan sighed and knelt to pick up his friend's jeans. The bathroom door cracked open once more.

"And get me something to wear, okay?" The door snapped shut again.

Stan wandered his way to his room and found a pair of blue checkered pajamas. He returned to the bathroom and listened. The water was running inside. Stan found himself smiling; Kyle was a big hygiene freak, and bodily fluids of any kind tended to weird him out. Stan wondered how long it would take Kyle to feel clean again. He knocked on the door and announced that he was leaving Kyle the clothes.

"Good," the redhead replied.

Stan hesitated at the door. He became very aware that Kyle was now naked behind the shower curtain. Nausea rippled through Stan once more, and he backed out of the bathroom as quick as possible. He shook the thoughts of Kyle from his head and focused on dumping his friend's jeans in the washer. He retreated to the couch and collected the food cartons. He stuffed them in the fridge and cleaned up any vomit he might have gotten on the carpet. By the time he was settling down on the couch, Kyle had finished his shower. The redhead entered the room toweling off his damp curls, his green ushanka stuffed under his arm.

Stan looked up sheepishly, but didn't say anything.

Kyle flopped down next to Stan. Their knees and thighs touched. Stan watched Kyle out of the corner. The shorter boy looked swamped in Stan's much larger pajamas. Kyle had to roll up his sleeves a couple times before he could properly use his hands.

"Dude, you okay?" Kyle asked, tossing his towel to the floor.

Stan nodded, not trusting to open his mouth just yet. Kyle pressed himself closer to his Super Best Friend.

"So…."

"Yeah." Stan managed the one word statement through his nausea.

"We cool?"

"Yep."

"You puked on me."

"Yeah…?"

"Does this mean you like-like me, dude?" Kyle chuckled, resting his head playfully against the taller teen's shoulder.

Stan placed his palm over his mouth and nodded. Kyle beamed.

"Sweet, dude…but don't you dare puke on me again. You hear me?"

Stan nodded, managing to smile. He turned to Kyle and swallowed. Taking a few deep breaths, Stan reached into his back pocket and pulled out the toy ring. He grabbed his friend's hand and slipped the ring on Kyle's pinky. It was too small for any other finger.

Just at that moment, the power came back on. Startled, Stan and Kyle jumped apart, then realizing how silly their reactions, both began to laugh. They laughed for a long time. Stan's nausea forgotten, he laughed until his sides hurt. Beside him, Kyle wiped tears from his eyes. When they settled down, Stan leaned into Kyle. The redhead leaned away. Stan frowned looking, sad and confused.

"Uh…Kyle…?"

"Brush your teeth before you kiss me, dude. I don't want your vomit germs on my lips," Kyle warned, glaring up at his friend. Stan blinked letting the command sink in.

He jumped up and sprinted to the bathroom. When Stan returned Kyle checked his friend's mouth, satisfied that it was now minty fresh and vomit-free, Kyle leaned back expectantly. Stan climbed back onto the couch and crawled closer.

"Don't you puke on me," Kyle warned one last time.

"I'll try not to."

Their second kiss lasted longer than the first one. As kids the two had been wary of swapping saliva and had pressed their lips together with scrunched up noses and eyes pinched shut. Now, Stan wrapped his arms around Kyle's waist and pulled the shorter boy into his chest. Kyle's own arms snaked around Stan's neck, pulling him down. They lay side by side on the couch; lips moving rhythmically and frantically. Stan's grip on his best friend only tightened as if their close proximity was crucial to the intensity of the kiss. They crushed their bodies together with legs entwined; chest bumped together, hands snaked through clumps of hair. Several times, Stan rested his forehead against Kyle's, breathing steadily and trying to control his churning stomach. Meanwhile, Kyle nuzzled Stan's cheek during the pauses, trailing kisses.

"See what you've been missing," Kyle whispered, "living your life with your eyes closed."

"Yeah," Stan breathed. "I'll never blink again."

* * *

><p>AN - So that was chapter four. Originally, I told myself this would be the last one. But I think there are a few more issues to wrap up. So it got pushed to five chapters. I hope this more 'uplifting' ending can hold you readers until I can get the next one out.

Thank you for reading and thanks to all who've reviewed so far.

_**Please feel free to review and comment. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.**_


	5. Stan and Kyle

Here is the final chapter. I hadn't intended on this fic becoming more than one chapter, and I feel some of it doesn't flow as well as it should. But for the most part I hope it all makes sense and fills in all the gaps. Please let me know if things aren't completely wrapped up or explained.

Please enjoy.**  
><strong>

**Summary:** Stan Marsh had never thought about marriage. No, he'd never even contemplated it, until Wendy Testaburger broke up with him.

**Rating:** T for language

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is only for fun.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Five – Stan and Kyle<strong>_

Stan Marsh had never really thought much about marriage until Wendy Testaburger had broken up with him in the fourth grade for the final time. As a result, Stan had 'married' his best friend on a whim at the age of ten. Stan hadn't contemplated that life's many pains and uncomfortable truths would affect him personally, but then his parents had divorced and life had grown dull and unwelcoming. Stan Marsh had also never considered how an old friendship might reignite and evolve into something much more, until one Friday night he found himself in his blacked-out apartment vomiting over his best friend Kyle Broflovski.

At first he had felt horrified at puking the contents of his stomach all over Kyle's jacket and jeans, but as the initial shock wore off, Stan realized that it was probably the best way to explain how he felt towards his old friend. After all, later that night Kyle had forgiven him and the two had fallen asleep arm in arm upon the living room couch.

* * *

><p>Sharon arrived home late and slightly damp from the rain to find her only son curled asleep against his best friend. She had paused to watch the two boys; watching how Kyle buried his head into Stan's chest and how her son's arms wrapped tightly about his friend's waist. For a brief second she debated about waking them and sending Kyle home, but gave up the thought as she moved closer to examine Stan. His cheeks looked wet and his eyelids blotchy and red. Turning her gaze on Kyle, Sharon noted that he seemed at peace, a small smile flitting across his parted lips. Kyle's hands dug into the fabric of Stan's t-shirt. Sharon shook her head smiling as she realized that Kyle was still wearing his lumpy green ushanka even as he slept.<p>

Straightening up, Mrs. Marsh brought her fingers to her lips kissing them and then placed her hand a top her son's forehead. She let her hand rest there for a few seconds. She then retreated to her bedroom, blowing out the melted candles that still flickered with life.

* * *

><p>The next morning Stan and Kyle stood before Mrs. Marsh as she cooked a plate of pancakes upon an electronic griddle.<p>

Stan took Kyle's hand in his own.

"Uh, Mom?" he asked hesitantly. Kyle yawned, still wearing Stan's pajamas, rubbing his eyes with a long sleeve.

Sharon smiled. "I take it Kyle's staying for breakfast too?"

Kyle nodded instinctively, eyeing the sizzling pancakes as they browned. Sharon beamed.

"Well…uh…yeah, I guess," Stan stammered. He ran a hand through his hair and tightened his grip on Kyle's fingers. He tried to move his fist forward to better reveal their hand holding to his mother. She just took in the sight with a simple smile and began plating the hot cakes.

"How many do you think you can eat, Kyle?" Sharon continued. Kyle thought for a moment, while Stan panicked silently beside him, confused as to why his mother hadn't said anything about his and Kyle's intimate hand holding.

"Three maybe," Kyle mused. Sharon nodded and began scooping up pancakes with a rubber spatula.

"Mom, uh, Kyle and I are…uh…," Stan began again, the word catching in his throat. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Mrs. Marsh, I'm dating your son now. Is that cool?"

Sharon shrugged. "Sounds good to me. How many do you want, Stanley? And I can always make more if you boys are still hungry."

She handed a loaded plate to Kyle, who dropped Stan's hand and grabbed a bottle of syrup.

"Oh, good it's sugar-free," Kyle commented, examining the bottle as he moved to take a seat at the tiny dining table. Stan accepted his own plate sheepishly. His mother smiled at him.

"I'm glad to see you two together again," she said in a whisper.

"You're okay with…with – uh – us?"

"I love you, Stanley," Sharon said, ruffling her son's hair. "I want you to be happy. And I'm pretty sure Kyle makes you happy, whether as a friend or more."

"Yeah."

Sharon nodded.

"Just be happy, Stan."

* * *

><p>As the months passed, Stan and Kyle grew more and more inseparable. With Kyle back at his side, Stan walked the hallways of South Park High with a lighter step. Stan felt as if a giant weight had lifted from his shoulders. People, animals, and objects appeared clearer and in focus; the world itself brighter. Even Cartman following behind the two hissing jokes and taking shots at Stan and Kyle's masculinity did not deter Stan's swelling happiness. Kenny congratulated Stan on finally getting out of his funk, although he did bitch him out for taking seven years to do so. Kenny also found it amusing as hell that both Stan and Kyle had kept mementos of their childhood escapades into matrimony. Cartman, of course, found it all 'faggy' and proceeded to tell Stan and Kyle this as often as possible. However, despite their friends' snide remarks and jokes, Kenny and Cartman were relieved to find Stan a whole lot more positive about life.<p>

* * *

><p>"Are we really going to go through with this?" Kyle asked picking up a sugar packet from the table and kicking it with his fingers across the round surface. Stan watched the blue-green square slide to the edge and teeter back and forth. He leaned over and caught it before it hit the ground.<p>

Replacing the sugar packet back in its holder, Stan said, "I can't just ignore him, Kyle."

"Did you know he was in town this week?" Kyle questioned, craning his neck and checking the traffic out in front of Café Monet. Stan knew he was looking for a brightly painted RV.

"Dad and I usually have these outings every other weekend, Kyle," Stan explained. "And when Mom told him about us, he…uh, wanted to talk."

Kyle rubbed his temple. "You know, Stan, I don't really have a place to talk when it comes to annoying family members, but I'm pretty sure your dad's not going to be very _subtle_ in his reaction to our relationship."

Stan coughed into his fist, avoiding Kyle's eye. He turned away from his boyfriend and checked the sidewalk. He started and stood up when he saw a familiar black-haired man strolling towards the restaurant. Behind Mr. Marsh stood an old, poorly painted RV; despite the vehicle's appearance, Randy looked quite presentable. He wore a thick sports jacket and a pair of sunglasses atop his head. When he reached his son, Randy threw his arms about the teen and crushed him to his chest.

"STANLEY!"

"Hey, Dad," Stan managed to gasp as his father squeezed him tighter.

Randy let him go and held him at arm's length. Years showed on the older man's face. A couple of wrinkles wrapped about Randy's eyes as they crinkled with his smile. Stan was now taller than his father, but only by a few inches. Randy's hair grayed at the temples and the tips of his moustache.

Stan offered his father a seat at the little round table, and the man sat down. That was when Randy noticed Kyle. For a second the two stared at one another before Randy bounded out of his seat and grabbed Kyle by the hand. He gave a mighty tug and pulled Kyle into a bone-breaking hug as well. Stan's jaw dropped as he watched his father and boyfriend embrace. As quickly as it had happened, Randy dropped his arms and returned to his seat, picking up a menu. Kyle, looking a bit disheveled, settled back down next to Stan.

"So, uh, how have you been Dad?" Stan asked. He glanced at Kyle who had hidden himself behind a menu.

"Good, good," Randy said. "I've started up a new project!"

Stan nodded, gritting his teeth. His father's "projects" were rather dangerous, borderline illegal at times, and all around idiotic. Kyle discreetly bit his knuckles trying not to laugh behind his menu.

"Oh, really? That's…uh…cool, Dad. What is it?"

Randy beamed. "Three words, boys: storage garage auctions."

Stan blinked. Kyle lowered his menu.

"Uh, storage garages, Mr. Marsh?"

"Yep, see this is what I do. I go around to storage garages and units and whatever, and wait for the owners to default on them. Then the storage company holds an auction for whatever's been left behind."

Kyle tried to be polite, his face contorting to keep from laughing.

"So, do you find anything good?"

Randy nodded as he took a sip of water. He swept his hand out dramatically.

"Oh, loads of good stuff, Kyle. Once I bought a whole set of mannequin heads and a couple of old wine bottles for three hundred and seventy five dollars," Randy explained. Stan shook his head.

"Dad, that sounds like a load of junk."

Randy looked offended. "Nuh, uh, Stan, it's important collector's items. It takes a keen eye like mine to notice the good stuff from the regular junk."

Stan rolled his eyes while pinching the bridge of his nose. Kyle continued to bite his knuckles stifling a bout of laughter. Randy took their silence as awe at his skills and went back to checking the menu. A waiter appeared to take their order. When the three were alone once more, an awkward pause echoed between them. Randy smiled expectantly from one teen to the next.

"So…?"

Stan choked down some ice water. "S-so, w-what, Dad?"

"Your mother tells me you're a homosexual now, Stanley," Randy replied still smiling. Kyle bit his lip and glanced at Stan.

"Uh, that's one way of putting it –"

"Well, I did tell your mother it would be her fault if you turned out to be a gay –"

"Dad –"

"But it might be because I wasn't around much when you were younger –"

"Dad –"

"But that can't be it because you joined the football team."

"Dad."

"Was it so you could watch guys shower, Stanley? Because I can understand if you had those urges…"

"Uh, Mr. Marsh?"

"…everyone experiments, Stan. Why I can remember Gerald and I once masturbated in front of one another…."

"Mr. Broflovski…?"

"You and my dad did WHAT?"

At that moment the waiter returned with their orders. Randy beamed happily as his club sandwich was placed before him. He frowned a bit at Stan's veggie burger, but shrugged it off and said something along the lines that he supported his son's "homosexual lifestyle." Kyle just stared at his cheeseburger, mumbling under his breath about how stupid and awkward parents could act. Stan pinched his nose watching his father munch on a couple of fries.

"Dad, look, do you…are you okay with this?" Stan asked in a small voice. Kyle looked up at him. Randy picked up his club, expecting it.

"Okay with what, Stan?" Randy said through a mouthful of ham and turkey.

"With me and Kyle. With me…being well…not exactly straight," Stan rushed out. He ran his fingers through his hair, picking sesame seeds off his veggie burger bun.

"Of course, Stan. Hmmm, I don't think they put mayo on this. Better flag down the waiter."

"Dad, I'm serious. Please, tell me what you really think," Stan pleaded. Randy set down his sandwich. Stan stared his father in the eye. "I don't want you to think less of me…."

Stan found Kyle's hand slipping into his own. Randy grew solemn, his sandwich forgotten.

"Why would I think any less of you, son?" Randy asked in a small voice. Stan shrugged.

"I don't know…just cause."

"If you're happy, I'm happy, Stan," Randy said clasping his hands neatly on the table before him. He leaned closer towards his son. "I might not understand everything you like or do, Stan, but I love you. I just want you to be happy." He paused for a moment, looking wistful. "Everyone deserves to be happy."

"That's what Mom said too," Stan smiled sheepishly.

Randy picked up his sandwich and took another bite. He spoke around chews, nodding sagely.

"She's right," Randy mumbled his eyes cast down. "She's always right."

He swallowed and turned to Kyle, who jumped slightly at the attention. Randy pointed at the redhead.

"Plus, Stan, you're mother and I always knew it was only a matter of time before you and Kyle ended up together. I mean you two once pretended to be married 'cause you thought it would be fun."

Stan felt his stomach squirm not unpleasantly, and Kyle's fingers tightened around his hand. Stan smiled, and Kyle grinned back. Randy acted as if he hadn't noticed the small exchange.

Randy picked off a tomato heel from his sandwich as he continued the conversation.

"And it's also good to see you smile for once, Stan. If being a homo for your best friend is the reason, I'm all for it."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, but continued to smile nonetheless.

* * *

><p>Several months later found Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman up by Stark's Pond at midnight. The four boys loitered around the edges of the half frozen pond, each sipping from a large bottle of scotch Kenny had stolen from his father. After only a few sips, Stan felt his stomach contents churn nastily and refused to drink anymore. This resulted in Cartman calling him a pussy and a lightweight, and then with Kyle pummeling Eric's fat shoulder with both fists until the larger boy shut up. Kenny giggled into his orange hood, downing another gulp of his confiscated liquor and cheering on his redheaded friend. Stan tried to remedy the situation by offering the excuse of designated driver.<p>

Satisfied that Cartman would keep quiet, Kyle clambered into the bed of Stan's pick-up truck where his boyfriend lay staring at the stars overhead. It was the same old truck that used to sit behind the McCormick's house, but after one long summer of tinkering and stealing spare parts, Stan and Kenny had managed to get it up and running. Stan had paid a fair amount for the vehicle, but Kenny offered to help keep up its maintenance for free given how long the truck had rusted in his backyard. Cartman refused to ride in it, claiming it would fall apart at any moment. Kyle had retorted it would only fall apart if Cartman's fat ass got in it. Still, Eric took to driving his own red sports car about town, and finding any chance to compare his shiny and much nicer vehicle to what Eric had dubbed 'Stan's poor piece o' shit."

Stan lay in the bed of the truck with his arms crossed under his head. He watched Kenny, sitting at the edge of the flatbed pass the bottle to Cartman, who took another swig, wrinkling his nose as he did so. Kyle rested on his elbow and leaned over Stan.

"You aren't going to be sick are you?" Kyle asked for what seemed like the tenth time after Stan had stopped drinking. Kyle's words sounded slurred, and Stan couldn't help but chuckle at his boyfriend's tipsy expression.

Stan pulled the other boy down on top of him.

"I'm good, dude," he whispered.

"You two start fucking, I'm outta here," Cartman called back to them, offering the bottle to Kyle. The redhead sat up to take it, glaring at the fatter teen.

"Cartman, shut the fuck up," Kyle snapped, before taking a sip from the offered bottle. Kenny moved to face the bed of the truck along with Stan and Kyle. The blond pulled down the hood of his orange sweatshirt, smiling.

"I wouldn't mind watching, if you two decided to get it on," Kenny teased in a false excited voice. Cartman made a gagging motion and snatched the scotch bottle back from Kyle.

"Sick, Kenny."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to acknowledge Kenny's suggestion. Kyle blinked several times, trying to clear his mind of the alcohol, before realizing what Kenny had said, and giving the orange hooded boy a swift kick.

Kenny howled with laughter.

Cartman shook the bottle upside down. All the liquor was gone. The heavyweight teen got out of the truck bed, and ambled towards the pond. Kyle and Kenny sat up and watched as Cartman reeled back his hand and tossed the bottle out across the water's icy surface. Kenny frowned.

"I should have nicked more from my old man."

Kyle nodded his eyes half-lidded. Stan shook his head and wrapped an arm around Kyle's waist.

"Dude, you don't need anymore," Stan said. Kyle shrugged.

"It tasted like piss anyway."

Stan laughed, kissing Kyle's cheek. Kenny watched them.

"Part of me can't believe what I'm seeing, but another part of me's like it was so obvious," Kenny noted. Cartman heaved himself back into the truck bed.

"I can believe it. Those two were always fags."

Kyle kicked the other boy's foot. "I said shut up, fatass."

"Ay! I'm just stating what I observed. Not like I give a shit what you two do behind closed doors," Cartman growled kicking back. "But I do reserve the right to make fun of you like hell."

Kenny pointed at Cartman. "He's got a point, dudes."

Stan rolled his eyes. Kyle leaned heavily against his side.

"Whatever…guys just jealous," Kyle slurred out. Stan shrugged, nodding his head in affirmation.

"Oh, like hell," Cartman snorted. Kenny rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"I always liked that you guys were so close," Kenny stated offhand. The other boys grew silent. Kenny ignored the awkward pause and continued, "All my life I've had to deal with a shitty family. My mom was always yellin' and my dad sometimes didn't come home for three or four nights in a row. My brother ignored me. I got used to thinking people were just shitty to each other all over the place. But then I met you two and well I began to think differently…."

Kyle blinked the fog out of his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You guys were always friends. It was always Stan and Kyle," Kenny said shrugging. Cartman scoffed, but couldn't hide the thoughtful expression in his eyes.

"And even though you started acting like a cynical asshole," Kenny snapped, pointing accusingly at Stan, "I told myself you and Kyle couldn't stay apart for long. I was like, they've fought before, they'll make up. You guys were like a constant for me…."

"So way to go for fucking that up, Stan," Cartman interjected. Kenny waved his hand dismissively.

"It doesn't matter," Kenny sniffed. "You guys are talking to each other again."

"And fucking –"

"DAMMIT, CARTMAN!"

Kenny made a noise in his throat, and Kyle and Cartman shut up. Stan watched Kenny carefully; the thin boy had yanked his orange hood back up over his head as if embarrassed that he'd revealed a bit too much about himself. Stan suddenly recalled that once Kenny had confided to him and Kyle that marriage wasn't or couldn't be fun. In fact Stan remembered how Kenny suggested a shot gun wedding as if that was the only way the poor kid thought people could get married. Thinking about his parents' divorce, Stan knew that relationships were not as solid as they first appeared. It was true, like a piece of glass teetering on an edge, the slightest shift, the slightest change, could set it tumbling to the ground to shatter what had once appeared so steadfast and secure.

And picking the pieces back up from where they'd landed seemed an arduous and unwelcome task.

But it wasn't an impossible task.

Glancing at Kyle, Stan watched the redhead pull his leather wallet from his pocket. Cartman made a comment about Jews and money, that everyone ignored out of habit, as Kyle flipped open his wallet. He rifled through some discount cards and some wrinkled bills and found a folded piece of paper. It was faded and browned at the edges. When he opened it up, Stan could see a very messy handwritten note. On closer inspection, Stan realized it wasn't a note, but the fake marriage certificate Kenny had made for them years ago. Kyle smoothed it out upon his knee and held it up to read.

Cartman nodded to the paper. "What's that, Jew?"

"My marriage certificate with Stan."

"You mean the fake marriage certificate," Stan corrected. Kyle gave him a look.

"No, I was right the first time."

Stan rolled his eyes, and Kyle shoved him.

Kenny reached out a hand to see the paper, while Cartman laughed stupidly. Stan found his stomach flip-flopping and not on account of the little bit of alcohol he'd consumed. Kenny read the paper through once and chuckled.

"I spelled matrimony wrong," he giggled. Cartman asked to see the page too, and spent a few minutes pointing out stupid grammar and spelling mistakes Kenny had made.

Stan turned to Kyle.

"I still can't believe you kept that, after all this time. After me being such a dick to you."

Kyle shrugged, not looking at Stan.

Kenny shook the paper in front of Stan and Kyle. "You two should renew your vows," Kenny laughed.

"Dude, don't let their gay rub off on you."

"Shut it, fat boy."

Stan took the paper from Kenny and squinted in the muffled light streaming from a street lamp nearby. Kyle scooted closer and leaned his head against Stan's shoulder to read. It was rather difficult to make out the scrawl; the letters were bunched together in some parts while in others the pen had smudged.

"Your handwriting sucks, dude," Stan commented, pulling the paper at arm's length to see if that would help clear up the writing.

"I was ten," Kenny deadpanned.

"Get on with it, fags, I'm freezing my ass off over here."

"You could stand to freeze some of your fat ass off," Kenny joked. Cartman huffed and crossed his arms.

"Hey, at least I have an ass, you malnourished fuck."

"Are you two going to let us read this shit or are you just going to argue?" Stan asked in a monotone. Kyle glared at Cartman, willing him to close his fat mouth.

Kenny decided to help his friends along. He extended his arm dramatically. "So, Stan, you still want to make an honest man of Kyle? Do you promise to listen to all of his rants and deal with his short temper and like honor and love him and all that other wonderfully gay stuff?"

Stan laughed. "Of course."

Kenny turned his attention to Kyle. "And do you, Kyle, want to spend the rest of your life with this cynical asshole, to love and honor and cherish and other sappy things like that?"

"Duh."

"Then by the Powers of Gray Skull invested in me, I now pronounce you Stan and Kyle," Kenny proclaimed. The others laughed.

"Don't you mean husband and husband?" asked Stan.

"Or husband and Jew rat."

"Shut the fuck up, fatass."

Kenny shook his head. "Nah, just Stan and Kyle will do."

* * *

><p>Later that night Stan lay in his bed with Kyle curled up against his side. The scotch had finally caught up with Kyle and the redhead snored gently, with his arm slung over Stan's chest and his nose pressed against Stan's cheek. Stan absentmindedly ran his fingers through his boyfriend's curly hair, watching light from outside dance across his ceiling.<p>

Kyle stirred and opened one eye. He reached up and felt his head, where Stan's fingers had just been.

"Where's my hat?"

"I took it off for you when you fell asleep. It's on the nightstand."

Bleary eyed, Kyle reached around behind him and snatched the green ushanka and tugged it over his red curls. Stan frowned.

"Dude, you don't have to wear it to bed. No one's going to judge your Jewfro while you sleep," Stan chuckled. Kyle ignored him, tucking a few curls up underneath the green ear flaps.

"I like sleeping with it on," Kyle argued feebly.

Stan sighed, losing interest in the half-hearted squabble. He turned on his side and faced Kyle. The other teen had closed his eyes, drifting off once again. Stan snaked a hand around Kyle's waist and tugged him closer. With his eyes still shut, Kyle buried his head against Stan's chest.

"Stan?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you really think my hair looks okay without my hat?"

"You look quite lovely with or without it, dude," Stan answered sleepily, closing his own eyes.

There was a pause.

"You know, I always loved you," Kyle whispered.

Stan opened his eyes. Kyle was staring at him.

"Kyle…I love you too"

Leaning over, Kyle kissed Stan. Their heads resting on the same pillow, both teens smiled at one another. Stan pulled Kyle closer, pressing their foreheads together.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Kyle laughed.

"I don't want to let you go."

Kyle closed his eyes.

"You know what you should do, Stan?"

"What?"

"Get on Facebook and change your relationship status to 'Married'."

Stan let go of Kyle and turned away to face the window. Kyle snorted with laughter.

"I was joking, dumbass."

"I'm sorry I can't hear you. I'm sleeping."

Kyle wrapped his arms around Stan's shoulders, resting his chin against Stan's cheek.

"Come on, dude, you know you want to," Kyle teased, his chin wobbling against Stan's cheek as he spoke.

"Kyle, I haven't been on my Facebook page in years."

"All the more reason to update it then!"

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. If it'll make you happy."

Kyle gave a small cheer and pecked a kiss on Stan's cheek before rolling away. Stan huffed, annoyed at himself for bending so easily. Turning around again, Stan watched Kyle pull off his hat and examine it. Without a word he tossed the ushanka back onto the bedside table. Leaning over the side of the bed, Kyle rustled through his backpack and pulled out the plaster egg they had called Steve. Stan laughed as he watched Kyle set the little egg inside the green hat. Settling back down on the bed, Kyle grabbed Stan's hand and clutched it to his chest. Stan buried his face in Kyle's curls kissing him atop his head.

"Night, Stan."

"Good night, Kyle."

* * *

><p><em>The End.<em> I hope I managed to wrap up everything and that the ending was satisfying. Feel free to point out any mistakes or ask questions. It just helps me as a writer.

Thanks again to everyone for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoyed.

**_Please feel free to review. Comments and constructive criticism welcomed!_**


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